Return to Thorney Towers
by The Great Allie
Summary: When the lives of the Thorny Towers gang is disrupted by shady characters, the Psychonauts are called in to once and for all close the case of Thorny Towers before they all end up in the insane asylum permanently!
1. A Thorny Situation

_Check my profile under "Return to Thorny Towers. I just wanted to share a little video... it's how I think of the asylum patients. _

_Years ago when I wrote PSMF, I wanted to do an asylum story, but there were so few such stories I thought it was because they just weren't done. Initially the campers weren't even going to be there, but I ended up shifting it from entirely pre-camp to partially during camp because I thought I ought to. Honestly, I like the asylum much better than the camp. Better ambiance, thicker part of the story... On my first playthrough I breezed through the first, what, five levels? At the Milkman Conspiracy I wasn't even in level 30 because I ran through the camp so fast so I could get to the asylum part I was so excited about. I didn't even realize the campers had names, let alone interesting stories. It's another reason I'm not so excited about the possibility of a Psychonauts 2... it probably wouldn't have a creepy insane asylum, and I just LOVE creepy insane asylums, especially abandoned ones from back when "treatment" for mental patients involved things that would drive them even more insane._

_**Hey, that's enough outta you. Get to the story part already!**_

_Whatever you say, bold text. Here comes the gray line:_

* * *

><p><em>Dear Mr. Bonaparte<em>

Fred put the letter on his kitchen table. No way was he ready to read this letter. No way in the world.

He got up and went to the cabinet for a glass. Then he went to the fridge and fumbled around inside it until he found the jug of milk. Instead of pouring it, though, he put the glass and milk jug on the counter and went back to the letter.

_Dear Mr. Bonaparte,_

_Mr. Edgar Teglee would like to invite you-_

I can't do it, thought Fred. He noticed the fridge was open and closed it. Then he opened it again to put the milk back, and closed it again. Then he opened it, took the milk out, poured himself a glass, and put the milk away. Fred set the glass of milk on the table next to the letter, and then he picked the letter up again.

_Mr. Edgar Teglee would like to invite you to the opening of his art exhibit entitled Madness and Mentalists, a reflection of his time at-_

No. No, no, no, no. Fred went into the next room where his pinewood derby cars were. He liked to build them and race them against each other. He only raced himself, because that was the only way he could win. Not that winning meant too much to Fred.

Yes, it did. It meant everything. That's why he never competed. Because then _he_might come back.

Fred picked up one of the cars, but it fell out of his hand and onto the carpet. The puke ugly, light yellow carpet that had sixteen years worth of fuzz and filth. The previous owner of this townhouse didn't clean up, and after his eviction, Fred picked up where he left off and kept on the tradition.

Because his legs were so long and his arms so short, Fred had to kneel down on the ground before he could reach the car. Then he just put it back.

Fred went back into the kitchen and emptied his glass of milk in one go. Then he picked up the letter again.

-_Madness and Mentalists, a reflection of his time at the now defunct Thorny Towers Home for the Demented. As your presence has influence in the art, we would be honored if you could attend in person. Please RSVP using the attached information. We look forward to your attendance._

_Sincerely,_

Fred put the letter back down. Answer them. _Répondre, s'il vous plaît_. Answer them how? No way in the world. No way on Earth would he be going. For the past year, he'd been trying to forget, trying to get the memory of his horrifying time at Thorny Towers out of his mind. It all ran together now, the screaming madness, the complete loss of self in his own mind, and, worst of all, the inexplicable isolation from everybody and everything- everything save for the jeering taunts of Crispin Whytehead, the man who _drove him insane to begin with!_

Well, maybe you can't really blame Crispin for that bit. The taunting, sure, but maybe it was unfair to blame _everything _on Crispin. He had beaten Fred at his game, yeah, but Fred was the one who set it up twenty-six subsequent times and had been unable to accept the fact that a drooling mental patient had come out from years of stupor just to beat him at his own game. It's a dig, certainly, but nothing to lose your mind over.

But Fred was never very competitive. Sure, Waterloo-O was one of his favorite games, but it's not like he'd never lost at it before. But... somehow losing to Crispin, a man who was unresponsive to all stimuli and locked in his own mind until Fred brought him the game, was too much. To lose to someone who wasn't even functional, and at something you were supposed to be inherently good at... well, it did things to your mind.

No, that wasn't it. The Psychonauts had told him, after he'd gotten off the island (he was very surprised to find that it was an island, as he'd remembered it being on a hill) that it was because of something called "psitanium" in the ground. He'd spent so much time around psitanium that it increased the activity in his brain, but his brain couldn't handle it. He just went a little crazy. If it hadn't been for Crispin drawing out his Napoleon personality, it would have been something else.

Fred put his glass in the dishwasher. So maybe not everything was Crispin's fault. That's why Fred didn't kill him. Well, probably he was too meek to ever kill anybody, but still. He just roughed him up, scared him a little. Okay, a lot. Well, he'd been at the guy's mercy for who knows how long? It was long past due, really.

Since then, they'd all gotten off the island. Fred had gotten his life back on track. He had a house, a job at a tax office (a far cry from working in an insane asylum) and there was this cute girl at the local coffee shop he was thinking of asking out sometime. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with Thorny Towers ever again.

Because... sometimes, at night... he could hear him. Napoleon. Wanting to know why he wasn't trying harder. Why he gives up so easily. The truth was, Fred hadn't been really passionate about anything in a while, he was just taking it easy. And he was afraid that if he didn't do something, Napoleon would come back to beat the love of victory into him. But Fred was also afraid that if he did try something, he would fail.

Fred was beginning to worry that maybe he was still insane.

He picked up the letter and checked the phone number. Then he went over to the phone and dialed. It rang once. Then a second time. And then it rang a third time.

**"**Yeah, hi, it's Fred Bonaparte," said Fred when someone answered. "I'm calling about my invitation to that art show thing... yeah. Yeah, I'll be there. Okay. Super. See you then." And he hung up.

Fred, you are such a wimp, he thought to himself.

* * *

><p>Edgar Teglee's favorite medium was painting on black velvet. He liked how you use bright, vivid colors to contrast the dark of the velvet. He loved the texture of the fabric and how it gave something exquisite to his pieces. But most of all, he just loved painting. At one time he had been a prisoner of art. Now he used art to set himself free.<p>

His gallery show had attracted a lot of media attention. It had made headlines last year when he and several other people had been rescued from the long-abandoned insane asylum following a plot to take over the world with brain tanks. Since then, everyone but he and Gloria von Gouten had managed to slip into anonymity. Actually, Edgar had been almost completely sequestered this past year, constantly working on these pieces that he felt had to be made, had to be shared with the world. The people had to know how they had felt, there, in that asylum, long forgotten and isolated. But since he broke the isolation, he had gotten an enormous amount of press.

Edgar tracked down all the others, the ones who had influenced his art. All of them had given him the go-ahead to depict them in his pieces. Now it was time for them to see what he had done with that permission. He'd had his assistant locate where they had gotten to and forwarded invitations, hopefully with enough time for them to make arrangements to come. However, he hoped the ones that weren't able to come chose not to because they had so many things going on in their recovered lives.

Gloria von Gouten, for example, had called right away to turn down his invitation. She apologized over and over again, but even if her understudy could come in to cover her role for the weekend, she couldn't be away from the Roberta von Gouten Memorial Suicide Prevention Center at this time. She used the money from her performing to start the center, named after her mother, to reach out to troubled people. She specialized in people who's lives were supposedly charmed, (like actresses and their mothers) or at least well adjusted, because often people assumed that if you were making money and had everything you needed, you shouldn't be suicidal. This put a huge stigma on an already very taboo subject, and they needed to know it was okay to feel this way, and that help was available. Already they had helped almost a hundred young people get their lives back on track, and they were in the middle of a huge fundraiser drive.

Boyd Cooper said couldn't get Friday off to drive down, but Edgar had a feeling that he just didn't want to go to an art show. Boyd wasn't really much of an 'art' guy.

Actually, so far, the only person who had returned his invitation in the affirmative was Fred Bonaparte. Edgar was glad of that. Fred was a friendly guy, Edgar had always thought.

The night of the show, Edgar was walking around his gallery, looking over all his pieces. Initially he was mingling with the crowd, the guests, potential buyers, art critics, and other journalists. While it was true that Edgar was a bit nervous about the whole thing, he was enjoying himself too much to let that bother him. He had never gotten a show all his own. True, he probably wouldn't have warranted it if the subject of the show wasn't such a curiosity, but Edgar knew how things worked, and he was grateful to have this chance at all.

His art was highly praised. The centerpiece of the whole thing was a large painting of El Odio the bull, locked in battle with Dingo Inflagrante as Lampita Pasionado looked on, hands at her mouth as she feared for the life of the one she loved. But that wasn't all. In the bottom right, the scene phased from a bullfight arena to the hallways of a high school, where Edgar Teglee looked on in anger as a Dingo-looking jock walked off with a woman who looked suspiciously like Lana Panzoni.

Another large piece was a form that looked much like Gloria. Her upper body was hunched over in agony, her face contorted in pain, but another torso and head emerging from her waist stood up straight, her hands spread as she gracefully accepted the cheers from her audience. The symbols around her were mirrored. On the left side, the angle her body hunched to, there were silhouettes of girls lined up in dance practice as a teacher cracked her whip, the image of a woman who looked like Gloria, but much older, falling from a great height, a hideous critic, potted plants with faces painted clumsily on them, and the classic tragedy face. On the other side, a happily cheering audience, a bright spirit, the comedy face, and beautiful trinkets. Edgar had gotten these images from just one meeting with her, where she told him all the strange things she'd imagined the night the tower exploded. After listening to her story, the piece painted itself.

The third painting showed a twisted suburb that turned in on itself and jutted out on angles. If you just glanced at it, you wouldn't notice anything unusual. But Edgar had used the stark contrasts of his medium to hide in a little subtlety. If you looked closely, you could see he'd painted a camera peeking out of nearly everything: mailboxes, windows, bushes, cars, everything bigger than a camera. The color of the cameras was only a little off from the color of the object they were hiding in, an effect he'd never tried in black velvet. This one, Edgar thought, vividly displayed the paranoia that Boyd had described to him.

Edgar turned a corner to where some of his less labor-intensive works were getting a lot of buzz. Once he did, he noticed something you couldn't miss. Fred Bonaparte always drew attention to himself in a crowd, being that he was so ridiculously tall he towered over everyone else.

**"**Hello, Fred, I'm glad you could make it!" Edgar greeted as he made his way to the increasingly awkward-looking man. Fred seemed to be completely lost, and when he saw Edgar he waved with one of his stubby T-Rex arms and smiled, but it was a forced smile, like you make when you know you ought to but a real one isn't happening on its own.

**"**Hi, Edgar," said Fred. "I noticed you couldn't make it through the show without at least one painting of a bullfight."

**"**Yes, but that one was on purpose," said Edgar. They both laughed politely. Fred couldn't really think of anything to say, so Edgar brought up the subject, "I would like to show you the piece inspired by your story. I remember being moved by your circumstances. It is like an old tragedy, the descendant of greatness fated to be locked in the prison where he was once a guard, as it were. Here it is. Please, tell me what you think."

As he spoke, he led Fred around to the far wall, where the piece he spoke of was hanging. Fred looked at it and took it all in silently. It was extremely tall and narrow, like himself. In fact, it resembled a full-body portrait. Fred stood tall and proud in the portrait, like his great-some-odd-grandfather before him. His clothing was made to look like the general's uniform, but twisted around his body like a straitjacket. The face, though, was not twisted in madness or fear; it was noble and proud. Around his feet were soldiers carved from wood, standing around at the ready, willing to follow their leader to Hell and back.

Fred looked up at the picture for a long time. Edgar watched his face, but could read nothing of his feelings. After a while he went from curiously awaiting criticism to an awkward sort of worry.

**"**If you don't like it, I will remove it from the show. If it upsets you I understand."

**"**It, uh- it's not-" Fred was looking for the right words. Unable to find them, he just looked down at Edgar and said, "It's really good. You're, um, a really great artist."

**"**Thank you," said Edgar. "I'm glad you approve."

**"**I gotta go," said Fred suddenly, and started heading towards the door.

Edgar followed him. "Is it too personal? Have I offended you?"

**"**No, it's not that. I just- I gotta go."

**"**Wait, please-"

_CRACK_

For someone as tall as Fred, he could really make himself short when he wanted to. And even though he'd never heard the sound of a gun go off in his life, his whole body recognized it right away and he hit the floor fast. People screamed. Edgar roared with fury.

Fred scrambled on the ground in a panic until he got to the door, regretting his decision to come to the gallery for more reasons than he could have even anticipated.


	2. ABBA Isn't for Everyone

Meanwhile, not far away...

Razputin had celebrated his eleventh birthday home at the circus with his family: his four siblings, his mother, and of course his father. Before that he was with the Psychonauts, training his skills with Agents Nein, Vodello, and Cruller. But, as things were slow, he'd come home to his family in the circus to practice his acrobatics. A mixture of physical and mental skill had gotten him out of more than one thorny situation, and as he was still a kid his place was still very much at home, under the watchful eyes of his parents.

Right now, actually, his father had sent him out back to practice his acrobatics, like a good father should. And right now Raz was hiding behind some crates, holding the latest issue of _True Psychic Tales_and slacking off, like a typical son would. He was really into it, but he wasn't so absorbed that he didn't notice when his father, Augustus, let himself into the tent. Raz stuffed the comic between the crates and jumped up, as if he were recovering from a spill that sent him in the wrong direction.

**"**Good evening, Razputin," Augustus greeted him.

**"**Hey, Dad!" Raz said brightly.

**"**Have you been practicing like I told you to?"

**"**Of course I have," said Raz, climbing over the crates.

**"**Because you know that your acrobatic talents are just as important as your psychic skills."

**"**I know, Dad," said Raz. "I couldn't have become a Psychonaut without all the stuff you taught me."

**"**Right," said Augustus. "You know I only ask you to do these things because I care about you. And I want you to be able to take care of yourself when you're out in the world."

**"**I know, I know, our family has many enemies."

**"**And your chosen profession is none too safe, either."

**"**More dangerous than flinging around on a trapeze under the big top?" Raz nudged his dad, and his dad nudged back with a smile.

**"**Oh, much more. For one thing, most states make us use a net with performers under the age of sixteen."

**"**Yeah."

**"**Of course, a good acrobat knows that falling is inevitable. Don't forget how I taught you to fall."

**"**Right," said Raz, "so I don't get hurt."

**"**That's my boy."

**"**Don't worry about me, Dad," said Raz. "I'm practicing really hard."

**"**Good," said Augustus. Then he reached over and pulled Raz's comic from it's place wedged between the crate. He rolled it up and tapped Raz on the head with it playfully. "Then you won't mind if I just put this with the rest of your things, so it'll be waiting for you when you're finished."

**"**Uh..."

Augustus chuckled to himself and started to leave.

**"**You read my mind," said Raz accusingly.

**"**No, no," said Augustus over his shoulder from the entrance, "You think I don't know my own son better than that?"

Raz shook his head, bewildered. Then, with nothing better to do, he climbed up the ladder to reach the trapeze. He swung back and forth a few times, but then brought himself back to the platform. He heard his father's voice just outside, but couldn't make out what he was saying.

Raz slowly climbed back down the ladder and crept to the edge of the tent, near the doorway, and tried to hear what his father was saying. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like what was happening outside was very important to him.

**"**Well... you know how I feel about all this," Augustus was saying, "I'm just not sure if now is a good time."

**"**It must be completed as soon as possible," said a deep, familiar, stoic voice. "Having Razputin here would greatly help."

Raz ran out of the tent excitedly. "Sasha!" he cried happily.

**"**Razputin, darling!" Milla was there, too. She spread her arms and Raz jumped in for a giant hug. "How are you?"

**"**I'm awesome, but- what are you doing here?" Raz turned around to Sasha, who greeted him with a stout nod and a handshake.

**"**Agents Nein and Vodello are here for you, Razputin," said Augustus. "They were just telling me about some sort of case they want you to come along on."

**"**It's very routine," said Sasha. "We're just going to the abandoned insane asylum on reconnaissance, and we would like you to come along. Since you are our expert on that place, your presence could be quite helpful."

**"**And I'm not sure how I feel about my son going back to that place. It's dangerously dilapidated, and besides, being there might cause him some undue duress. Don't forget, he _is _only eleven."

**"**It's not a dangerous assignment," said Sasha. "We're only going there to gather information."

Augustus raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? You're not expecting anything else?"

**"**Of course not. You have my assurances that this is a routine information-gathering mission."

**"**That's right," said Milla. "We wouldn't ask for him if he wasn't already so familiar with the place. We'll both be keeping a very close eye on him."

**"**Can you really keep such a good watch over him while you're conducting a mission?"

Milla gave him a knowing sort of grin. "What, you've never heard that Psychonauts are masters of multitasking? Don't you worry about that."

**"**Yeah, Dad. C'mon, I've done way more dangerous stuff than this."

Augustus sighed. "I know you have... and I know you're one of the most powerful psychic minds of the day... I just worry that because of this, sometimes people forget that you're still just eleven years old."

He was looking at Sasha when he said it, but it was Raz who answered him. "Dad, why do you worry so much? Look- look at this." He reached out and took both Milla and Sasha's hands in his, linking their fingers together. "I'll be working with a net, see?" Then he let go of their hands and stepped up to his father. "And if that doesn't work, well... you taught me how to fall, remember?"

Finally, his father relented. He smiled, and opened his arms to welcome Razputin into a warm, welcoming hug. "Be good, Razputin," his father said. "Show them all."

**"**Aw, c'mon." Raz was slightly embarrassed.

**"**Come with us," said Sasha. He stepped up to Augustus and said, "You have my assurances that no harm will come to him."

**"**Good," said Augustus. "Then I won't have to put a curse on you."

**"**You say your family has many enemies," said Sasha. "I assure you, I am not one of them." Then he turned to leave, behind Raz and Milla who were already moving on out.

* * *

><p>"Have you eaten yet?" Sasha asked as they left the fairgrounds.<p>

On cue, Raz's stomach growled. "Oh, man. No. We haven't had dinner yet."

**"**Let's stop somewhere, then, and we can fill you in on all the details."

The sky was red from the setting sun. The days were getting shorter, but it was still pretty late in the day for the sun to be out. Not too far from the fairgrounds they found a diner. It was pretty classic, chrome on the exterior, shaped like a train car, elevated from ground level. The menu posted outside told that it had standard diner fare, a mix of breakfast and dinner all made from the same small set of ingredients. There was no wait, so they were seated immediately in a booth in the back corner smoking section.

Raz opened his menu. He felt like a little kid, sitting in a booth in the diner with two adults. It made him sort of uncomfortable. "So," he said, trying to sound grown up, "What's going on? Why are we going to Thorny Towers?"

Sasha frowned, and then shifted his weight and reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. Milla gave him a look from across the table. "Sitting on your cigarettes again?"

**"**This new coat," said Sasha. "The pockets are a bit lower than on my last one." He pulled out a cigarette and lit it with his mind. "All right," he said, "where were we?"

**"**We didn't start yet," said Raz.

**"**Ah, well, that's easy enough. You see, just last week the last open case relating to the Brain Tanks was closed and filed away, ending that chapter in Psychonauts history forever. Because of that, certain restrictions have been lifted, such as the blanket ban on any activity over at the abandoned insane asylum that wasn't directly related to the case, so as to keep interference to a minimum. Because of this, now we are able to freely investigate the area to find answers to several questions that were raised that night."

**"**What kind of questions?"

**"**For starters..." Sasha paused, as he couldn't smoke and talk at the same time. "We understand why Oleander chose to have Dr. Loboto perform his work at Thorny Towers, as it was nearby yet inaccessible. We are unsure of why the other patients were there that night, because it seemed to serve no purpose. The place had been abandoned for fifty years. There was no part in the plan that needed their brains _or _bodies. As the case is officially closed, we are investigating the possibility that more than one matter of intrigue was happening there at the same time."

**"**Wait," said Raz. "The asylum was closed for over fifty years?"

**"**That's right, darling," said Milla, "didn't you read the tree stump last summer?"

Raz looked back in his head. "Oh. Oh, yeah! But wait," he frowned. "When I was poking around in their minds trying to straighten everything out, I saw all their memories. Way back when they were remembering how they got there, they were remembering Thorny Towers."

**"**Most old mental institutions looked the same," said Sasha. "It's also possible that they could not remember where they were taken to in their madness, and projected their current location back into their memories."

**"**Whoa," said Raz, taking it in. "So... he brought Crispin to guard the elevator for him... and Boyd was supposed to keep people out and blow up the asylum when it was done... but what about Gloria and Fred and Edgar? Why would he bring them there?"

**"**Hopefully we will find that out on this mission," said Sasha. "Incidentally, is your leg feeling better?"

**"**Oh, yeah. It's 100%."

**"**I'm so glad to hear that," said Milla. "I can't tell you how worried I was when you were still limping when we sent you home."

Raz waved his hand. "Nah, that wasn't a problem. One time, when I was seven, I..." He trailed off, looking out the window. "Did you see that?"

**"**What?" asked Milla.

Raz stood up. "Scootch out."

Milla stepped out of the booth so that Raz could get out. "What is it?" But Raz was already halfway out the door.

**"**Stay here and wait for the food," said Sasha, getting up as well. "I'll see what he's up to."

Raz pushed the door open to the steps outside. He was sure he saw a head go past the window outside. But he couldn't have seen a head, because the diner was elevated above the height of normal people. It would be impossible for him to have seen a head pass the window... unless it was the head he thought he recognized.

**"**Fred?" Raz called. "Fred Bonaparte?"

He turned around slowly, eyes darting around in a panic. There he was, Fred Bonaparte, though not as Raz remembered him. His eyes were still nervous, but he no longer looked like a mental patient. Gone was the straitjacket, the coffee mug epualettes, the Napoleon hat, to be replaced with ordinary street clothes. But the most noticeable thing about Fred wasn't the mental patient garb or the Napoleon complex. It was the giant, slender frame that housed the nervous, somewhat gentle but mostly wimpy man within.

Fred's pink eyes settled on Raz. He stared, mouth slightly open but not slack, at the child standing just a few feet down the sidewalk from him. He looked confused, surprised, and... scared?

Sasha came up behind Raz, and saw right away what had dragged his young attention span away. "What is this?" he asked.

Finally, Fred spoke. "I'm sorry, I... didn't know you were real."

Raz put his hand on his chest. "Who, me?"

**"**Yeah... I don't remember that night so well, but I remember some kid in my dreams and he was talking to me, but when I woke up he was gone. I figured none of it was real. But you look just like him."

**"**I'm Raz," said Raz in an authoritative voice that had developed quite a bit over the past year. "Last summer I was on a mission that took me across Lake Oblongata to Thorny Towers Home for the Demented. I had to get through some obstacles that required entering the minds of some people there and straightening them out."

**"**Oh," said Fred.

**"**Yeah," said Raz. "I'm the one who fixed your crazy."

**"**Well, thanks," said Fred. "Because of you I got my life back. Or, well, I got _a_life back." He looked over his shoulder. "Look, I hate to run so fast, but I'm pretty sure someone's trying to kill me, so if you don't mind..."

He turned around and started to walk away, but Sasha reached out his psychic hand and took Fred by his shirt collar. "Wait a moment," said Sasha. "We are currently on a mission concerning the events of the Home for the Demented that took place that night, and we could use your information. We are Psychonauts, and if you are in danger it would be safe to stay with us."

**"**Oh," said Fred. He glanced over his shoulder, and then back at Sasha and Raz. "Uh, okay. Thanks."

**"**Come inside," said Sasha, "and tell us what happened."

Raz went back into the diner first, then Fred, and then Sasha, after checking to see that nothing strange was happening behind them. Milla waved to Raz at the booth, and their food had arrived during their absence. Raz introduced them, and then let Fred slide into the booth first so he could arrange his long legs under the table. Raz sat next to Fred, as Fred didn't feel comfortable sitting next to anyone he didn't know. Sasha joined Milla on the other side of the booth, with Milla sitting just a bit closer to Sasha than she did to Raz.

**"**So," said Sasha. "You believe you are in danger. Is it an immediate threat?"

**"**I don't know," said Fred. "I was at this gallery, and I was talking with Edgar- you know Edgar, he's an artist? He was at the asylum."

**"**Yeah," said Raz. "He dreams in black velvet."

**"**Yeah, that sounds like him," said Fred. "So we were talking, and then someone fired a gun. He got Edgar right in the arm."

**"**That was stupid," said Raz.

**"**Yeah, that only made him mad. So he went after the guy- the guy freaked, I think he thought that would have worked, and he got off one more shot that went over my head- I was ducking on the floor- and I ran home. When I got to my house, the front window was smashed open from the outside. I could see glass all over the living room, and someone was sitting on the couch, holding something. I heard this music playing from inside, some kind of disco, but it scared me so bad that I went to the parking lot and got my car, but it wouldn't start. There was this weird smell... I mean, it didn't choke and die. I turned the key and got nothing. The front door of my house opened and some guy in a trench coat stepped out... and I ran."

**"**You poor thing," said Milla. "Here, do you need something to eat?"

**"**No," said Fred. "I couldn't eat anything if I tried."

**"**Are you sure someone was trying to kill you?" said Raz.

**"**I dunno," said Fred. "I just don't usually get shot at, broken into, and vandalized all in the same day. I got spooked."

Sasha had been silent this whole time. Now he put his cigarette out in the ash tray and said, "I would like you to stay with us for the time being," said Sasha.

**"**You think I'll be safe?"

**"**I think something is going on," replied Sasha, "and I would like to keep you close."

**"**I don't like how you didn't answer my question."

Sasha didn't say anything.

**"**Well," said Milla, "I wouldn't worry about it, darling. You're with the Psychonauts now."

**"**Oh, uh, okay. Great."

**"**What are you thinking?" Milla asked Sasha.

Sasha was responding to Milla, but he posed the question to Raz: "What do you think about this man's story?"

**"**Creepy," replied Raz.

**"**Do you think his explanation of events is likely to be accurate?"

**"**Hey!" Fred understood what Sasha meant.

**"**Of course," said Raz. "Boyd was the paranoid one. After I got rid of Napoleon, Fred had a really good head on his shoulders, even if it _was _in the clouds."

**"**Hey!" said Fred again. Then, when he got the joke, "That's funny."

**"**It does warrant investigation," said Sasha. "If true, it most likely is involved with our current investigation."

**"**I agree. We should visit the art exhibit first," said Milla.

**"**What about Thorny Towers?" asked Raz.

**"**It's already been waiting for a year," said Milla. "It can wait a little longer, I think."

Raz was disappointed that he had to wait longer to see Thorny Towers, but he was interested in seeing Edgar again. Edgar was an interesting man, perhaps the most normal of the bunch (although that wasn't saying much), having carried on the most normal conversation with Raz before his mined was cleared than any of the others (again, not saying much.)

**"**What about me?" asked Fred. He was thinking about the man from his house.

**"**Come with us," said Sasha, "and help us reconstruct the events."

That was a huge relief to Fred. He was much calmer as they paid the check and left than he was when he came in. Until, though, he suddenly recognized the music playing somewhere in the background. It had been barely recognizable at the table, but as they moved through the diner, suddenly Fred could hear it clearly. It was coming from a jukebox over at a table where a shady character in a trench-coat and fedora was huddled over a plate of scrambled eggs and ham.

_Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war_**  
><strong>_Waterloo - Promise to love you for ever more_**  
><strong>_Waterloo - Couldn't escape if I wanted to_**  
><strong>_Waterloo - Knowing my fate is to be with you_**  
><strong>_Waterloo - Finally facing my Waterloo_

**"**That's the song that was playing at my house," said Fred. "When the guy was sitting in there, through the broken window. What's that song?"

**"**That song?" Milla repeated. "That's 'Waterloo,' by ABBA. Very disco-inspired. Good to dance to."

**"**I don't like it," said Fred nervously.

**"**ABBA is not for everyone," Milla agreed.

_And how could I ever refuse?  
><em>_I feel like I win when I lose  
><em>_Waterloo-_

**"**No," said Fred a bit darkly. "I definitely don't like that song." And he ducked his head and stepped outside, the Psychonauts following.


	3. A Shady Character

There were three things that Morceau Oleander loved: Fighting a war, training young psychic minds, and his rabbit hutch. However, since the psychic world was currently a peace, and summer camp was over, he'd thrown himself fully into the third option. Whispering Rock was a fine place to raise a brood of bunnies, and they could live a long and healthy life in the sunshine, with lots of lettuce and fresh hay to eat, and plenty of room to frolic, with no worries of butchers.

By day he let them out in an enclosed pen behind the lodge. When the sun started to set behind the hills, though, he rounded them up and put them away before the cougars could come out with plans cook and eat them.

**"**Ten hut!" he shouted, holding his riding crop straight up. "At attention, men! Single file! Into the hutch!" The bunnies, of course, ignored his orders, hopping around and sniffing curiously.

**"**All right, rabbits, on the double! I want you back in this hutch. You first, Washington." He picked up the nearest bunny. Washington had soft fur and big, brown eyes. His nose twitched a mile a minute, and his curious face seemed to be asking why he had to go inside.

Oleander gave Washington a squeeze before sending him back into the hutch. "You're next, Patton," he said, picking up the next rabbit. Patton squirmed and tried to escape, clearly not giving up playtime without a fight. "I like your fighting spirit," said Oleander as he placed Patton in the hutch next to Washington.

Something poked him in the back of the head. Oleander spun around, hands ready to strike- but it was only Janitor Cruller, poking him with the handle of his push-broom. "What do you want?" he asked with a growl in his voice. Oleander had very little patience for any of Cruller's personalities except the original, the one who couldn't leave his sanctuary, and even that one was trying sometimes.

Janitor Cruller stared at him with those crazy, vacant eyes, slightly spread outwards. It creeped Oleander out. Agent Cruller said his mind was "multi-faceted." Oleander just thought he was a nut. You couldn't ever say that to him, though. It hurt enough to lose your mind, and then upon finding it again have no one believe you but your closest friends, who would be your only comfort as you stayed locked in your prison and called it a sanctuary. If one of his friends treated him poorly, it would hurt as lot. Oleander was gruff, sure, and with little patience, but he wasn't a cruel man.

**"**Did you want something, Cruller?" Oleander was holding another bunny, Lee, under his arm.

**"**I cleaned your rabbit cage," said Janitor Cruller. "I think you'll find it spotless and refreshing."

Oleander stuffed Lee into the hutch. "Yeah, I do," he said.

Janitor Cruller continued to stare at him. Oleander began to feel a bit like he'd shown up to drill practice without his uniform. He picked up Hickory. "Anything else?" But Janitor Cruller only stared. Oleander waited an uncomfortably long time before Cruller replied: "Rabbits need a clean pen. I'll clean the pen."

**"**Do that later," said Oleander. "I still have to tuck in Jackson, Ceaser, Pershing, Grant-" He stopped talking as he caught sight of someone coming up the hill. "Who's there?"

A strange man was there, dressed in a long brown trench-coat and matching fedora that shadowed his face. His trousers were narrow and his shoes were polished- very polished indeed, for how dusty it was out here.

**"**Who are you?" asked Oleander.

**"**We are looking for Sheena Thorny." The man spoke in a deep, even voice, ending his sentences a bit curtly.

**"**Sheena Thorny... Sheena Thorny..." Oleander thought that sounded familiar, but didn't quite know... "Sheena Thorny... oh. Oh! You mean Sheegor?"

**"**Sheena Thorny was a patient at Thorny Towers," said the man in the same voice.

**"**Yeah, she's here," said Oleander. "Why, what do you need her for?"

**"**I have been instructed to find Sheena Thorny."

**"**Can't help ya," said Oleander. "Only Nein is authorized to get into his lab." It's not that he _couldn't_, of course, but rather that he _wouldn't,_not for a suspicious stranger anyway.

The stranger turned to Janitor Cruller. "What can you tell me about Sheena Thorny?"

**"**Why? Does she need mopping?" asked Janitor Cruller hopefully.

**"**That information is classified," said the stranger.

**"**Who are you?" Oleander demanded.

**"**That information is classified," repeated the stranger.

**"**Well, I'm a Psychonaut, buddy, so just how classified is it?"

The stranger casually held his hand out... then dropped a confusion grenade.

**"**What? Hey! What are you-" but suddenly Oleander couldn't see clearly, and he realized that he couldn't find his brain tanks! He needed to fill them with... bunnies? No. No, **save **the bunnies, and... wait, what?

**"**I told you them burgers ain't ready yet..." said Janitor Cruller.

Someone grabbed Oleander and dragged him along. He couldn't see where, but he tried to help by walking because he felt reasonably sure that he was being taken to the bunnies- no, wait, to his brain tanks. No, wait-

Wait, the stranger was a threat to him! And-

SLAM!

Suddenly it was pitch dark. Oleander could move, but he couldn't see, couldn't hear, and his mind couldn't penetrate anything.

His stomach sank and he slid down to the floor.

**"**Hey, Morry?" Janitor Cruller said. So that made one thing Oleander could hear, aside from the ringing in his ears caused by the silence.

**"**What?"

**"**Does this place need mopping?"

Oleander facepalmed. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

* * *

><p>The Psychonauts arrived at the art gallery just as the police were leaving. The local police were never eager to let outside forces in, and the less face time they shared, the better. A crowd outside wanted to come in; nothing is better word-of-mouth for an art exhibit than attempted murder, apparently. Already Edgar had been inspired, and he could only meet with them as long as they didn't mind sharing their attention with his black velvet.<p>

**"**Welcome to my new exhibit," said Edgar as he greeted the Psychonauts from behind his easel. "And welcome back, Fred."

**"**Hi, Edgar," said Fred, somewhat embarrassed. "Sorry I ran out before."

Edgar waved his hand. "Don't worry about it. I'm just glad to see that you're all right."

**"**Hey, Edgar. Cool painting," said Raz, taking a look over Edgar's shoulder.

**"**Thank you. This exhibit would not be possible without you, you know. I tried to find your address to send you an invitation, but I was unable to."

**"**Oh, yeah, I move around a lot," said Raz.

**"**Wait, you knew he was real?" said Fred.

**"**Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

**"**Well, I didn't."

**"**Excuse me for saying so, Mr. Orderly," said Edgar, quite kindly, "but I did have a better awareness of my surroundings at the time."

**"**Also I was taking a nap," said Fred.

Then Sasha spoke. "A fascinating exhibit. You have captured the madness in an astounding way."

**"**Thank you."

**"**That may be what made you a target."

**"**I'm surprised to find you here," said Milla. "I was under the impression that you were shot."

Edgar made a dismissive gesture. "Bullets cannot harm Edgar Teglee." Aside from a lightly stained piece of gauze taped to his upper left arm, Edgar seemed unharmed.

**"**Did you get a good look at your attacker?"

**"**As I told the police, I was unable to. He had a long trench-coat and a hat that hid his features. He fired two shots and left."

**"**The second shot moved my hair," said Fred.

**"**What do you think?" Sasha asked Milla.

**"**It very likely was about his raising attention to Thorny Towers," said Milla, "but so far that's my psychic intuition."

**"**There is no such thing as psychic intuition," said Sasha. "Either you know it or you don't."

**"**You don't believe in woman's intuition, either, darling, but I always know when you need me."

**"**Perceptual bias," said Sasha. "There's never been a controlled study measuring the times I needed you and you responded against the times I needed you and you were unaware."

**"**Sometimes I think you are beyond help."

Meanwhile, Raz was watching Edgar paint. Right now, there wasn't much form, and Raz couldn't make it out. "Whatchya paintin' now?" he asked.

Edgar made two broad strokes, letting his arm fly free from the velvet into the air, giving his art a momentum at the edges. "Freedom," he said simply.

**"**Why?"

**"**Tonight has been exhilarating," Edgar explained, "so that is what I'm painting."

Sasha and Milla asked Edgar many more questions of things that have been established, and Raz listened, trying to learn everything about being a Psychonaut.

**"**Thank you for your time," said Sasha as he finished. "Stay safe. We may be back."

**"**It would be a pleasure," replied Edgar.

**"**I think now we should got to Thorny Towers."

Raz jumped out of his seat. "All right!" They started to leave when suddenly he noticed something. "Wait, where's Fred?"

Fred hadn't gone far. He had grown bored and wandered off, setting down and looking at his painting. Subconsciously he'd crossed his arms, as he had in his straitjacket.

Before, he had seen the painting depicting a delusion so powerful it seeped out of his head and into reality, which frightened him badly. Now, though, he was inclined to see it differently- he saw a man, nearly a stranger, who was noble and dignified in the face of madness. "I wish I could be like the painting now," he thought, "instead of the one before."

Little did he know how, in the coming days, he would become more of one interpretation and less like the other.


	4. Prisoner of War, Prisoner of Mind

"First we'll need to return to our secret headquarters at Whispering Rock," Sasha said. "Mr. Bonaparte, I'd like you to remain at our satellite headquarters here in the city."

**"**Um, okay. With more Psychonauts, right? I mean, I'll be safe here, right?"

**"**Of course." Sasha's voice had no assurance to it. Fred was not used to Sasha's way, and this tone was clearly not reassuring him. Milla, in an effort to counteract Sasha's emotionless voice, put a friendly hand on Fred's shoulder. Foc course, she had to levitate herself a bit to reach him. "Don't worry about a thing," she assured him.

The Psychonauts Satellite Headquarters they left him at looked just like any other office. This place might be owned by an insurance company, or a tech support call center, for how normal it looked. Sasha left Fred in an empty office and told him to hold tight until they returned. He sat down behind the unoccupied desk and began looking for a magazine or something.

The three Psychonauts left the building. Raz bounded along eagerly. Beside him Sasha walked calmly and evenly, and beside _him_Milla strode confidently with a bit of a swagger. They were pretty mismatched together, and they looked as different together as they did among ordinary people. It was different when they were together, though. Raz and Sasha, and to a much lesser extent Milla, always looked out of place among normal people, as did a lot of psychics. However, when they were together, there was an invisible, unspoken bond that could be sensed by anyone. They didn't look like they fit together, but there was an understanding of belonging, something that was rare among psychics and non-psychics alike.

**"**Which car are we taking?" Raz asked.

Sasha reached into his coat pocket. "I believe yours is still in the shop, Agent Vodello?"

Milla smiled. "Don't act like you're not glad."

Sasha didn't react, but they all knew he didn't care much for Milla's car. It was flashy and loud. Sasha had two cars, each one more sensible than the other. One was beige, the other was black. Both were boring. They had special spy gadgets built in and receptors for psychic actions, but they could be equipped to fly to the moon and still be dull cars.

They got in, Sasha driving, Milla shotgun, and Raz buckled into the back seat. The drive would be long and quiet, through winding country roads that had no rest stops, no billboards, no big signs pointing out which gas stations, fast food restaurants, or traveler's motels would be at the next exit. There was only one exit, and it didn't really go anywhere anymore.

At first Raz occupied himself by running through the mission, and recalling what he could about the asylum from his last visit... however, even though he was an official Psychonauts agent, and he was used to traveling for long stretches of time, he was still an eleven year old kid who was stuck waiting for something exciting to happen. Raz shifted in the back seat. He tugged at his seat belt. "Are we there yet?" he asked when he thought he was about to explode.

**"**Almost, darling," said Milla. Then, to Sasha, "just a little farther, yes?"

Sasha held the steering wheel tightly and looked straight ahead, nodding slightly.

**"**When we get to Whispering Rock, we'll check in with Ford," said Milla. "Morry is there, too, but he won't be working with us."

**"**Call ahead and ask him to open the gate," said Sasha. Milla pulled her phone out of her purse and dialed. Raz slumped back in his seat.

**"**No answer," said Milla. "I'll see if Ford can send him a message..."

The car slowed down, then stopped. They were still on the road.

**"**Why are we stopped?" asked Raz, leaning forward.

Then he saw why Sasha had stopped.

Oh, the gates were open, all right. It looked like it had been forced open by Bigfoot. The bars were warped and the lock was smashed.

Milla, eyes fixed on the gate, hung up her phone. "No answer," she said.

Sasha got out of the car. Milla slid over and pulled the car over to the side of the road. "Stay close to me, Razputin," said Milla, and she got out of the car.

Raz pulled his goggles down over his eyes and fell into place behind Milla.

Sasha was standing in the middle of the parking lot, staring straight ahead. His left hand was in his pocket. Milla came up behind him. "Do you sense anyone?"

**"**No," said Sasha. "Not foe nor friend."

**"**Oh, dear."

Raz looked down at his feet. "Isn't the big tree stump supposed to be right here?"

**"**I don't think someone would break in and only steal the cross section of a tree," said Sasha. Raz took that as Sasha shooting down his comment, and he frowned.

**"**Wait- what's that?" Milla went ahead up the hill to the lodge, and then shouted, "Come quickly!"

Sasha and Raz jogged up the path to see what she'd seen. It was the rabbit pen, and a cougar attacking it. Three of the bunnies were in the hutch and the rest in the pen. The hutch was open and one of the rabbits was sitting in the doorway, the other two huddled in the hay. The cougar was pawing at some of the rabbits in the pen, but the one in the doorway kept firing little blasts of concentrated aggression at it, just enough to keep it from getting the others but not enough to convince it that this wasn't going to be an easy meal.

Milla picked up the cougar and flung it into the woods just as Raz and Sasha made it to the pen. "Cool," said Raz.

**"**Something happened while Oleander was putting the rabbits up," said Sasha. "They may have seen something."

Sasha knelt down and held his hand out near the hutch. The one who'd been attacking, Jackson, sniffed Sasha's hand curiously, then hopped into his outstretched arms. Sasha checked Jackson's memories. Sunshine... carrots... hopping... Morry... a shady man in a trenchcoat... dragging Morry away... then, cougar!"

**"**It's the same over here," said Milla, reading Sasha's mind as well as the bunnies. Raz couldn't manage to make sense of an animal's mind yet, since it was so different from a human's. He settled for letting them swarm around him with curiosity and affection.

Milla picked up one of the bunnies. "Put them up, darling," said Milla. "Let's make sure they'll be safe."

**"**Is this thing cougar proof?" asked Raz. He scooped the rest up in one mental handful and shoved them into the hutch.

**"**It doesn't look it, but it is- it pretty much has to be." Milla gave the bunny a snuggle and put it away.

**"**We'll go to my lab," said Sasha.

The woods were calm, and under any other circumstance it would be peaceful. Now, however, the stillness was spooky. Every broken beam in the fence seemed sinister in origin. Every snap of a twig was an assassin's foot. Minds ready, the Psychonauts went on. Now the woods were still. The sound of the birds seemed distant, and hardly any breeze rustled the leaves. Soon they could hear the sound of the stream running.

Then, a new sound joined the ordinary forest sounds. It was a low rumble, punctuated by soft thuds.

Sasha took point as they followed the sound, with it growing louder and louder as they approached the GPC area. The thuds became sharper and more defined, and the rumble rolled in highs and lows. Muffled shouting and pounding.

Sasha floated up to the lowest grate platform and opened the door of the bottom geodesic isolation chamber. Oleander, who had been slamming his weight against the door, went sprawling and fell onto the grate, then tumbled onto the grass below.

**"**Coach Oleander?" said Raz at the same time Milla said, "Morry?"

**"**What happened?" Sasha asked.

**"**An enemy soldier caught me off guard with a confusion grenade and made us POWs!"

**"**Us? You and Cruller, then?"

**"**Yeah."

Sasha leaned over and looked into the GPC. It was empty, though the walls were a bit wet from where Cruller had been mopping them. "... Where is he now?"

**"**I don't know, it was dark. He stopped talking about mopping a few hours ago, and then I couldn't find him."

**"**Well, that's..." but there wasn't a better word for 'bizarre' so Sasha didn't finish. "Your assailent, what did he want?"

**"**To lock me in a psychic prison, how should I- oh, wait, I _do _know! Sheegor! He wanted Sheegor."

Sasha didn't hesitate. He took off up the grates to the GPC entrance of his lab. Everyone else followed behind him, first up and then down the steps into his lab.

**"**Sheena!" called Sasha.

**"**Sheegor!" Raz also called.

The lab was empty. There were clear signs of a struggle. Sasha's lock box had been cracked open and some classified folders taken.

Mr. Pokeylope was sitting on the control panel of the Brain Tumbler. "They took her," he said sadly.

**"**When?"

**"**Only a few hours ago."

Raz reached his hand out, palm up. Mr. Pokeylope crawled into his hand, and Raz put him in his backpack. "We'll get her back," he promised.

Mr. Pokeylope nodded. "Ford wants to see you."

**"**Yeah?" said Oleander. "Well, where is he?"

**"**His sanctuary." Mr. Pokeylope pulled his head into the backpack, then into his shell.

* * *

><p>Ford was indeed in his sanctuary. When they entered, he was standing on the platform, arms folded behind his back, staring at the computer images floating all around him. He didn't turn around when they came in, but he did say, "The area has been compromised."<p>

**"**It's not safe out here," said Sasha. "We need to relocate back to the satellite office."

**"**I know."

Milla approached Ford. "It won't be for long, just until we secure the area." She put a hand on his shoulder. "And you'll be with friends."

Ford turned around and looked at them all. He sighed. "Yeah, heah. Let's go."

**"**Is there anything you need to tell us before we leave?"'

**"**Nothing I can think of," said Ford. "Let's go."

So they all left the sanctuary together, and emerged from the stump in the parking lot one by one: Sasha, Milla, Raz with Mr. Pokeylope, Ford Cruller, Oleander, then Allie with Nawrocki riding on her shoulders. "All right," she said, clapping her hands together. "Let's do this thing."

Everyone else turned around and stared at her. She shrank down self consciously.

**"**Where did you come from?" asked Sasha.

**"**From in the tree. Like you."

**"**Well, you can't come with us."

She looked surprised and hurt. "Wh- why not?"

**"**Because you have no reason to be here, and there are too many people already."

**"**Yeah," said Oleander. "We're already gonna have to take two cars. Besides, nobody wants you here."

**"**Morry!" Milla warned.

**"**He's right, though," said Raz.

Allie was about to protest, but Nawrocki tugged on her hair and began to lead her away. "Come on," he coaxed. "We don't need them. We'll go have our own adventure. With blackjack. And Warhammer."

**"**I don't like Warhammer. I always lose."

**"**Yeah, and it's _funny_."

**"**Well, yeah, I guess it is..." and they disappeared into the woods.

**"**Okay, that was weird," said Raz. "Let's just go."

* * *

><p><em>Allie and Nawrocki make an unwanted cameo. Previously they have been seen in "Psychic Summer Mystery Fun," and they barely had any reason to be there.<em>


	5. Office Workers

_This was actually one of the first chapters I wrote, although I had trouble easing into it naturally, as you can plainly see. Starting with the Boyd part, I mean. The rest was just a clumsy transition._

* * *

><p>Sasha, Milla, Raz, Ford, and Oleander all returned to the office. It was very late at night, or possibly very early in the morning, by the time they pulled the car back into the garage. Luckily Sasha had a pass and could let them in. "Tomorrow we'll find the rest of the patients," said Sasha. "I must evaluate what kind of danger they may be in."<p>

"If we're not doing anything, why did we come back to the office?" Oleander grumbled.

"I left something here," said Sahsa.

"Well, I packed my emergency travel kit," said Oleander, "so I'll just pitch my tent-"

"You're staying in a hotel."

"We didn't have hotels in the war, soldier." Oleander didn't argue further. Since the psychic brain tanks, Oleander had been on probation with the Psychonauts, and had lost a lot of things, not the least of which was a sizable portion of his paycheck which led to him selling his home and moving to the camp full-time.

"Your responsibility in all this will be to watch Ford," Milla said. "After this case, they'll be clear to take you off probation."

"Yeah, yeah..." he waved his hand dismissively. "I don't see why we couldn't just do a cover-up like with the Psychic Martians."

Raz looked up. "Wait, what?"

Sasha unlocked the front door and ushered Raz in, hand on his back. "Raz, come with me. He trusts you."

That's when Raz remembered that they'd left Fred here. It felt like they'd been gone for ages, and when they got to the office they'd find a bleached skeleton with very long legs lying on the industrial carpet. Instead they found him in a conference room next to the empty office he'd been in, with his enormous nose buried in an issue of True Psychic Tales, surrounded by empty chip bags from the vending machine.

"Hey, Fred," said Raz.

"Hey." Fred glanced over the top of the magazine. "You were gone a while."

"Yeah, sorry."

Fred got up and stretched, then began scooping up the chip bags. "What happens now?"

"You'll be spending tonight here," said Sasha. "The building is secure, and if it makes you feel better you'll have a personal guard." Sasha held out his hand and indicated Raz. "Razputin, your job will be to stop anybody who tries to kill Fred."

Raz pulled down his goggles. "Oh, yeah," he said, "an assignment!"

Fred looked relieved. The fact that he was going to be guarded by a kid didn't bother him- in his head Raz was a hero who'd already saved him. He didn't even mind that Raz would technaclly be asleep, just so long as he wouldn't be alone.

* * *

><p>First thing in the morning, the Psychonauts would see what the rest of the patients had been doing for the past year, and to assess if there was any danger to them. At this stage it was entirely possible that not only were the others not in danger, but the events were not linked to Thorny Towers at all. It could be that Sheegor had been taken to extract secrets from, given that she spent all her time these days in a highly classified government lab. Milla would be taking the clues from Whispering Rock and trying to track down where she might be. And Edgar might have just been part of a political statement, or an unrelated grudge. Also Fred was a wimp.<p>

Still, the idea that it was related to Thorny Towers made the most sense, and if someone was going around doing things, the Psychonauts would put a stop to it. A half hour on the computer told Sasha that Boyd worked at an insurance firm in a nearby city, that Gloria lived in New Jersey and commuted to New York City every day for her work, and that Crispin was a patient at Shady Pines, an institution for long-term but relatively low-maintenance mental patients. Seeing Gloria would take the most time, more than the rest put together since they couldn't take the jet, and Crispin wouldn't be in much danger if he was so low-profile, so Sasha decided to start with Boyd.

The next morning he found Raz and Fred sleeping in the break room, Fred on two couches and Raz on a chair. "Get up," he said, tapping their feet. "It's time for work."

Raz sat up and rubbed his eyes over the goggles, still asleep. "What are we going to do?"

"We're visiting Boyd Cooper," he replied.

"This early in the morning? Is his office even open?"

Sasha went over to the window and opened the blinds. "It's eleven A.M.," he said.

"Wow."

"Am I coming?" asked Fred.

"Yes, if you want to." He pulled his keys out. "Come with me. We'll take my car. I'm sorry it doesn't have a lot of leg room," he added.

* * *

><p>Fred felt uncomfortably large in the cube farm. the walls of the cubicles came up to around Sasha's chin, and of course they towered over young Raz. Fred, however, towered well over the surface and he could see well into the inner sanctums of many nine-to-five desk jockeys. Many were working, but Fred noticed a few web browsers on non-business pages, a few games of solitaire in progress, and one napper as he scanned the open room. 'Maybe I would make a good floor supervisor,' he thought.<p>

Sasha flashed his badge to the secretary as Fred was looking around, and she directed them on how to find Boyd's cube. Raz tugged on Fred's pant leg when it became apparent he didn't notice them moving on. Still, he easily fell into step with them long before they located the cubicle of Boyd Cooper.

When Fred spotted Boyd's head, his face lit up with recognition. "Hey, Boyd," he called, "Long time no-" but then he stopped short when he saw the rest of Boyd and his cubicle.

"Oh, wow," said Raz, wide-eyed under his goggles.

Most of the cubicle walls in this office were empty of clutter. Several pictures of families or cartoons of office humor were permitted, but overall the place had a feeling of tidiness. However, someone had to have made an exception for Boyd. Hundreds and hundreds of index cards and post-its were tacked, taped, or stuck to the walls of Boyd's cubicle, right up to the top edge and down to the floor, even under his desk. Each one had a word or a phrase scrawled on it: "Contacts: Red Manter 402-0402," "Re: Spreadsheets ΣA1-A17," "1971-1979," and "$=¥? Inquire." The area between the notes was a web of string, yarn, and rubber bands that went from card to card, connecting phrases, ideas, tasks, and notices. Boyd himself was seated in the center of the information maelstrom, tapping away at his outdated '99 computer. His blazer was draped over the back of his chair, but his white shirt was still buttoned and his wacky tie was tied.

Boyd spun around in his chair and smiled at his visitors. "Hey, you're here! Come on in." He ushered Sasha and Fred in saying, "Nice to meetchya- great to see you again, Fred." And then, to Raz, "Hey, I didn't know you were real!"

"Uh, Boyd?" Raz said, gesturing to the cubicle walls. Sasha shushed him.

"How've ya been, Boyd?" said Fred, trying to get over the shock of how much Boyd's cubicle looked like his padded cell.

"Can't complain," said Boyd. "I've had this job almost a year and haven't burned the place down yet, eh?" he elbowed Fred as if they were buddies sharing a private joke.

"Uh, yeah."

Sasha stepped in. "Mr. Cooper, I am Agent Nein of the Psychonauts. We're here to ask you a few things."

Boyd glanced behind him at a notecard that said: "PSYCHONAUTS." It was connected directly to two post-its, one reading, "Gather supplements," and the other reading, "Real? Y/N," and both were webbing off into infinity. This made perfect sense to Boyd and he reached under a desk and pulled out a binder. "This is everything they gave me when I got outta the asylum."

"Actually, we're more interested in what's been happening after that," said Sasha.

Raz raised his hand a little. "Uh, Boyd?"

"Nothing's been happening, though," said Boyd. "Just lots of data entry and nights with the guys."

"Aside from us, has anybody contacted you about your time at Thorny Towers?"

"Not that I can remember," said Boyd. "Uh... oh, yeah, Edgar sent me an invite to his gallery thing. I said no."

"I see. No one has contacted you regarding your extended imprisonment?"

"Not really. Some guy said he was sorry I got left behind, but I don't know who he was."

"Think about this next one. Has anyone threatened you or attempted physical harm?"

"Only when I'm on the call center," said Boyd. Then he laughed heartily. Boyd seemed to get a kick out of office humor.

Sasha, however, did not. "It's very important that you tell me what you know."

"But I don't know," said Boyd.

Suddenly, Raz blurted out, "Boyd, what's with all the note cards?"

Sasha hushed Raz and Fred sagged his shoulders. Boyd, however, looked clueless. "What do you mean?"

Sasha said, "Nothing," at the same time Raz said, "It looks like your conspiracy theories."

Boyd looked at the web on his walls, a curious frown on his face. "Do you really think so?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." Boyd shrugged. "Oh, well."

"Getting back on the subject," said Sasha a bit loudly. "I need to know if you are absolutely certain that no one this past year has attempted to contact you regarding Thorny Towers."

"Now that you mention it..." Boyd frowned. "There is this one guy three cubes over," he pointed, "who's always asking me about my time in the loony bin. I don't talk to him if I can help it."

Sasha made a note of that.

Another office worker, Ted, poked his head into the cubicle. "Hey, Boyd!"

"Hey, Ted."

Ted held up a white paper bag. "Here's lunch. Your change is in a napkin on the bottom."

"Oh, great!" Boyd took the bag and peeked in. "Best meatball subs around," he said.

"The soda fountain was broken, though," said Ted, "so for a drink I just got you a thing of milk." He held up a white plastic bottle with a picture of a cow on it.

Boyd looked up and froze. "Did you say... MILK?" he stared at Ted and the milk bottle, eyes wide and somewhat vacant.

Sasha held his arm out in front of Raz, who tucked his goggles on. Fred hunched his shoulders.

Then, surprisingly, Boyd's face broke into a huge grin. "I love milk!" He took the bottle and raised it up as if in a toast.

Sasha, Raz, and Fred visibly relaxed.

"Mind if I eat in front of you?" Boyd asked, taking his sub out of the bag. "We only get a 35-minute lunch hour."

"Perhaps we'll visit your coworker three cubicles down while you eat," said Sasha.

He left the cubicle. Fred hesitated, then followed in step behind Sasha. Raz, however, stayed behind, seemingly enraptured by Boyd's walls.

Just before Fred got to the cubicle doorway, he heard tinny dance music coming from a radio. If I were the floor supervisor, he thought smugly, I'd say he had to wear headphones. In his imagination, Fred told the guy in an authoritative voice, not a tiny little meek voice that punctuated everything with "um," and "if that's okay with you."

Then the guy came into view. He was a shadowy figure in a brown trench coat and a hat that hid his face well. He was wearing a necktie over his coat, and he also was using it as a mouse pad.

"Excuse me," said Sasha. "I'm with the Psychonauts. I have several questions for you."

"I am an office worker," said the shady character. "I wear a tie to work in an office."

"Yes," said Sasha. "I understand you spoke to a Boyd Cooper about Thorny Towers."

"Boyd Cooper is a coworker. We work in the same office."

"Yes. You spoke to him about Thorny Towers."

"I am working on a project. It is part of my job." He mashed his fingers clumsily on his keys. Sasha looked at the computer screen. It was black.

Sasha looked back at the man.

"Thank God it is Friday," said the man.

Sasha backed away.

Fred made to follow, but suddenly he could clearly hear the music:

_So how could I ever refuse?_  
><em>I feel like I win when I lose<em>  
><em>Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war<em>  
><em>Waterloo - Promise to love you for ever more<em>  
><em>Waterloo - Couldn't escape if I wanted to<em>

A chill went down his spine.

Back at Boyd's cubicle, Boyd was explaining something to Raz. Raz sat on the floor, legs crossed, looking up at Boyd, clearly enraptured with what he had to say.

"Okay," said Raz carefully. "So the CEO..." he traced his finger from the string coming out of a Post-it(r) that said "CEO" "... answers to the President... who-"

Boyd shook his head. "No, you're reading it backwards. See, start with me, right here. I work under my boss, who works under the department head, who responds to the President, who works with the CEO, who has to get the blessing from the Board of Directors, who represent the shareholders, who are subject to the whims of the market, and they all live together in the house that Jack built." And he finished by pointing to an index card up at the top of his wall that read, "House that Jack Built."

"... Oh," said Raz.

"Razputin, it's time to go," said Sasha.

"Aw, I was just about to figure Boyd out."

"Another time, perhaps." Sasha turned to Boyd. "That man. Do not tell him anything about Thorny Towers. Do not mention your involvement. Do not go anywhere alone with him, and never do anything he asks you to that is not directly a part of your job. I will return soon."

"Okie-doke," said Boyd. "Don't need to tell me twice. That guy is nuts."


	6. Shady Pines

Shady Pines wasn't too far from Boyd's office. Sasha called ahead and explained why he was coming, and they were glad to let him come. Raz, however, was not old enough to visit a non-relative, so he was sent back to Milla with much protesting. When it was just Sasha and Fred in the car, it got very awkward.

Shady Pines was in a building somewhat removed from the rest of the world. The building itself was small, but the grounds surrounding it were quite spacious. The name was sincere; once they drove past the gate and the guard house, the path was surrounded by tall, thick pine trees that gave the whole place a cozy atmosphere as well as helped to muffle the noise from the nearby highway. By the time you got to the actual building, you couldn't sense anything of the outside world.

Sasha parked under a tree and got out. Fred tried twice and finally followed. He looked around with wonder as he followed Sasha, who as always looked straight ahead. You couldn't see the chain link fence from here, and it really felt like they were out in the middle of a forest.

Inside, it was a little dim. The floor was tile, the ceiling was sectioned, and the walls were cinderblock, but it was by no means an unfriendly environment. The lobby chairs had salmon-colored padding, and the walls were covered with sloppy paintings done by patients and proudly displayed. There was a receptionist stand, but it displayed a sign that said 'Back in 5.' A nurse was passing by, but other than that it was quiet.

Sasha flashed his badge to the nurse. "I'm with the Psychonauts. We contacted here earlier today about your patient, Crispin Whytehead?"

The nurse looked from the badge to Sasha's face, and then she smiled. She was incredibly perky. It was just as heartwarming as it was annoying. "Oh, hello! Agent Nein, right? I'm nurse Rumi Hidaka, I'm the one you spoke with." She shook his hand eagerly. Sasha remained indifferent. "Well, it's like I told you on the phone. You can talk to him all you want, but he just can't respond. He's such a dear, too."

Fred almost laughed at that; clearly she was projecting her own perky personality onto the catatonic patients around her, because Fred would have never in a million years described Crispin as a 'dear'... unless it was a "dear, sweet lord what a pain in the neck he is!"

"As a Psychonaut, I'm expertly trained in cracking difficult minds."

"I don't know about that," said Rumi, "I don't want you to damage him any further."

"Don't worry. In a situation like this, the only risk to the psyche will be of my own. I am very sensitive to my subjects."

"All right," said Rumi. "Go wait in the patient lounge. I'll be there with Dr. Forever to supervise."

Sasha nodded, and then motioned for Fred to follow him. The lounge was just down the hall. It was a very nice, well-lit hall with bulletin boards hosting announcements and showing off more patients art projects. A potted fern sat in the corner, next to a dedication plaque that Fred couldn't read. It looked more like an elementary school than a mental hospital.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?" Fred asked.

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"It just... doesn't look much like a mental hospital."

Sasha telekenetically opened the door to the lounge. Fred followed him in, banging his head on the top of the door frame.

"That must get old very fast," Sasha commented as he mentally pulled out a chair for himself. There were several round cafeteria-type tables over on one end of the room, near a shelf full of worn old games. The other half of the room had a battered old television and some tired furniture. There were lively abstract paintings on the wall.

Fred pulled out a chair and tried to sit down. After two failed attempts, he managed to fold his legs with his knees under the table and his feet behind the seat. "This, too," he said.

"Why do you say that?" Sasha asked, hands folded, now taking out a cigarette and lighting it. "I mean, that it doesn't look like a mental hospital."

"I dunno. Where are the chains? Where are the patients strapped to beds in the halls because there are no more rooms? I haven't heard any screaming since I got here."

"Not all mental hospitals are like Thorny Towers."

"But Thorny Towers was considered one of the best when it opened."

Dr. Forever entered then, silently. Nurse Hidaka was behind him, rolling in a wheelchair that carried a small, pasty white man with blue hair and milky eyes. "Here he is," said Nurse Hidaka. "Sit up straight, dear." She adjusted Cripsin to a better sitting position, but he slumped right back down.

Fred had a gut reaction to Crispin the moment he saw him. His whole body tensed like a magnet and his stomach knotted itself and sank as if he had swallowed bricks. Spending the last year in peaceful contentedness had done wonders for him, and he was so at ease with himself that he'd forgotten just how much of a strong emotional reaction he had to this man.

Suddenly he had a memory, a memory that lasted for years. He was struggling, writhing, suffering, burning from the inside out. Constantly he cried out for help, for relief, and there stood this man, enjoying it as a relief from boredom, taunting and teasing, prodding and poking and driving him further into his madness.

Now he sat slumped, drooling and vacant. Fred would have felt pity for him if he didn't vividly remember what pity for Cripsin had brought him before, and if there wasn't something nagging him about this.

"The poor fellow," Nurse Hidaka was saying. "They found him on the island the day after the tower blew up. He was so sick from all the smoke, and his eyes were infected. They brought him to the city hospital and treated him. He made a full recovery except for his eyes, poor guy. The cataracts were so bad, and mixed with the infection his vision couldn't be saved. All that time, he never did anything, never said anything. Couldn't even tell us his name. Someone else involved told us his name. A nice, tall fellow."

"That was me," thought Fred, "and the only reason I bothered was because we happened to be in the same room at the same time while the Psychonauts sorted this mess out. I should have let him rot as a John Doe, and I would have if I didn't suspect it would be doing him a favor." Then: "Whoa. Where did _that _come from?"

"He doesn't speak," said Nurse Hidaka, "and he can't see, but he knows voices and he likes it when you talk to him."

Meanwhile, Dr. Forever was nodding in agreement.

"That doesn't sound at all like Crispin," thought Fred, "unless that's her projecting onto him again." Indeed, in this state Crispin was very much a blank slate, and every movement of his was open to interpretation.

Nurse Hidaka straightened him up again, but he slid through her arms, which made Fred chuckle. He remembered how much like pudding Crispin was if you tried to scoop him up when he didn't want you to.

Sasha placed his psycho-portal onto Crispin's head. He focused, and both were still, until Sasha dropped his stance. "There is a mental block keeping me out. Razputin said it kept him out that night, but the block shouldn't hold after Dr. Lobot's death."

Nurse Hidaka and Dr. Forever glanced at each other. "Dr. Loboto?" said Nurse Hidaka in disbelief. "You don't mean Dr. _Caligosto_Loboto, do you?"

"Yes," said Sasha. "He headed the brain tank operation, but he didn't survive the night."

"We have Dr. Caligosto Loboto as a patient here."

"Could it be the same Dr. Loboto?" Sasha wondered out loud.

Nurse Hidaka raised an eyebrow. "How many Dr. Caligosto Lobotos do you think there are?"

"Let me see him."

"I'm not sure if-"

"This is very important," said Sasha.

"I suppose it's okay," said Nurse Hidaka, "if only the Psychonaut goes." She looked at Dr. Forever. "Don't you think?"

Dr. Forever shrugged.

"Okay. I'll stay here with Cris," said Fred, who had been eyeing him this whole time.

Dr. Forever motioned for Sasha to follow, and led him down the hall. After several turns they moved to a different ward. Finally they stopped in front of a door. Dr. Forever took out a key and unlocked the door. Sasha stepped in and Dr. Forever closed and locked it behind. Sasha was in an area no larger than a broom closet, with a door in front of him that locked from his side. He unlocked it and slowly opened the door.

It was incredibly dark. The only light came from a fluorescent square in the alcove. Sahsa could see the room was padded, and a glint in the corner.

"Turn on the light if you want," a high voice cackled. "That is you, isn't it, Nurse Hidaka?"

"It's Sasha Nein of the Psychonauts." He found a switch and flipped it. Then he saw what was undoubtedly the same Dr. Loboto from the brain tank operation at Thorny Towers.

"Psychonatus, Psychonauts, where have I heard that before?" Loboto rubbed his non-chin with his left hand- his gleaming metal claw having been removed for the safety of him and those around him. "Oh, yes, that two-bit spoon-bending government agency. What brings you here?"

"I was under the impression that you had died after you were blasted from the top of the tower."

"Oh, yes, I did" said Dr. Loboto. "But I'm feeling much better now."

Sasha wanted to question that, but he had a feeling that, if an answer was to be found, it wouldn't come from Dr. Loboto.

"I bet you're curious about why they're coming," said Loboto. "They've been coming and they won't stop. What we had? They want it, that's why they did what they did. And they don't want you to know. That's why they won't stop until we're all dead. But don't worry. I'll be ready for them." Then he threw his head back and cackled, and gave Sasha no more information, no matter what Sasha did or asked.

"How are you keeping up the mental block," said Sasha. "You're not a more powerful psychic than me- how is the block strong enough to keep me out?"

"I'll not have you meddling around in my employees brains," said Loboto, "even if you are working on the experiment with me!"

"Very well," thought Sasha, "then I'll have to take a look inside your brain."

* * *

><p>"How do you know Crispin?" Nurse Hidaka asked Fred after Sasha and Dr. Forever had left.<p>

Fred looked away from his nemesis. "Oh, uh, I used to work where he was a patient."

"Was he a lot like he is now?"

"Yeah." Then, he told a lie to make Nurse Hidaka smile. "He might be doing a little better, actually."

It worked, and she did. "We do have some of the best treatments," she said proudly. "Oh, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"No, it's fine, it's true," said Fred, remembering the rows of restrained patients, screaming out for want of sanity.

"I need to bring him back so I can start the afternoon meds," said Nurse Hidaka, standing up.

"Mind if I stick with him?" asked Fred. The nagging had finally reached solid fruition. He realized what it was.

"That would be so nice for him," said Nurse Hidaka. "He gets lonely in the afternoons."

"I'm sure he does," thought Fred. They walked down the hall together in silence, and Fred decided that he liked Nurse Hidaka. She showed him to a small room where Crispin stayed. She eased him out of the chair and onto the floor across from his bed. "He likes it better here," she explained.

Then she left, which meant Fred and Crispin were alone in the room. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop on the cold, unforgiving tile floor. Fred stood just inside the room, by the closed door. Crispin was slumped in the corner, blind eyes still staring vacantly.

Finally, Fred spoke in a surprisingly cold voice. "You can drop the act Crispin. I know you're in there."

Crispin grinned slightly. "Can't pull one over on you, eh, General?"

Fred winced. "Don't call me that."

"Well, you're the first one to see through the act. I haven't broken the charade since they found me on the island. By the way, thank you for coming back for me," Crispin added with as much dignified sarcasm as he could muster.

"Thank _you_for all the years of friendly conversation and competition," replied Fred.

"Touché." No longer needing to slouch, Crispin straightened up and stretched his shoulder blades. He was no longer confined to a straitjacket; as Sasha had said, treatment of the mentally ill had improved leaps and bounds since Fred's imprisonment, and today straitjackets were a last resort rather than a default necessity on the mentally ill.

"So what's with the act?" asked Fred. "I mean- it wasn't always an act, was it?"

"Of course not, don't be so stupid. Maybe I don't remember why I was there to begin with, but I never wanted to be there. No more than you did, or Teglee, or Cooper..." Crispin shook his head.

"So why now?"

"Because they're coming after all of us. Don't tell me you haven't noticed. Of course you have; that's why you haven't left arms reach of the Psychonauts. You don't want them to kill you."

"Who's _they_?" Fred was getting confused.

"Who's 'they'? How should I know? I only know what I heard from Dr. Loboto and that short, angry man he was working with. There was more than one manner of intrigue going on there, you know. Or didn't you realize that we were there for _fifty five years_."

"That can't be true," said Fred. "I'm only thirty-four."

Crispin made a tch sound with his tongue. "Doesn't the world seem a bit different to you, Fred?"

"Well... I guess, but I figured-"

"Someone's trying to cover their tracks, or else track down the secret of what happened, and either way they can't risk the world finding out. And tell me, why would they go after a poor old vegetable like me when there are much more looming threats to revealing their secrets, threats that call attention to themselves whatever they do, or set up shows depicting what they're trying to hide, or sit in the laps of their enemies, the Psychonauts. I'm staying here and alive, thank you very much."

"Well, yeah..." said Fred, "but what kind of life are you surviving for?"

"This may surprise you, Bonaparte, but I lead a very active inner life." He sighed. "My only regret is that I never learned to read Braille. And who would teach someone like my façade to read?" Crispin seemed genuinely sad at that thought, but, again, Fred didn't really feel inclined to pity towards him. He changed his tone quick enough anyway and said, "Have fun hiding with the Psychonauts. They'll come after them first, and you with them."

"Have fun doing absolutely nothing for the rest of your life," replied Fred.

Crispin grinned. "Oh, wait and see," he said in a sinister way.

* * *

><p>Outside of Loboto's room, Dr. Forever was waiting patiently for Sasha to signal that he had finished. After a while, he heard the doorknob rattling. Instead of opening it, he tapped his fingernail on the surface of the door and waited until he heard the other door close and lock itself, thus ensuring that Dr. Loboto could not come out. Then he unlocked and opened the door, letting Sasha out. He looked up at him expectantly (Dr. Forever was not a tall man; he almost reached six feet, but not quite.)<p>

Sasha looked back down at Dr. Forever, reading his expression. "There is nothing in that man that I can understand."

Dr. Forever shrugged sympathetically.

"This is a matter of urgent importance," said Sasha. "I know confidentiality is an important part of your profession, but lives are at stake. I need information on the patients I've come to see today."

Dr. Forever reached into his coat and pulled out a Manila folder and a thick black Sharpie. He reached into the folder and pulled out a sheet of paper, which he made quite a few marks on and handed to Sahsa.

Sasha took the paper and read it over. It had Dr. Loboto's name and physical information. His medical information had been blacked out just now, but a new piece of information had been added: an address.

_Dr. Jonathan Kybard  
>514 Industral Park West<br>Suite 26_

Sasha looked back at Dr. Forever, who's expression hadn't changed. He nodded in understanding.


	7. This Chapter is Self Indulgent

"_The Dutchman"  
><em>_written by Michael Peter Smith  
><em>_from The Makem and Clancy Collection (1986)  
><em>_Liam Clancy and Tommy Makem_

* * *

><p>When Sasha, Fred, and Raz were visiting Boyd, Milla, Oleander, and Ford were going through old records, looking for information on Thorny Towers. Sasha dropped Raz off before going to Shady Pines, and he joined them there for the rest of the day..<p>

However, looking through endless files for information you're not finding is very tiring, and it wasn't too long before they began to burn out. Around one thirty, Milla stood up, straightened her skirt, and said "Well, I think this is all we can do without a good lunch."

Oleander pushed back from the desk and stretched. his arms. "Great," he said, "I brought along the camping stove. Let's go shoot some pheasants and get started."

"No need," said Milla, "We'll go to the strip mall across the street and charge a meal to the expense account." Then: "Wait, _pheasant_?"

"Yeah. What? It's a gentleman's game."

"I know, it's just..."

"What? You think that just because I'm a die-hard army guy doesn't mean I don't have any other facets to my personality. See? I just said 'facets.' Ever hear Patton say that?"

"Well, actually-"

"I vote for the expense account one." Raz cut in.

Oleander sputtered an objection.

"See, that's Democracy in action," Raz continued. "Isn't that what most of your heroes fought and died for?"

"Then it's settled," said Milla. "Let's go to the Olive Garden. Raz, would you please get Ford?"

"Can do." Raz went to the corner of the room, where Ford was sweeping the walls of the office. "Hey, Ford."

"Ah! Dagnabbit. You kids keep tracking mud on the walls, how'm I supposed to keep it clean?"

"It's time for lunch."

"No it ain't! The coals ain't hot yet. It'll be at least a week."

"Oh, that's too bad. Let's just go next door and get some spaghetti instead."

"Can't leave the coals, whole camp'll burn down!"

"I hired a squirrel to watch the grill while you're gone."

"Bah! Squirrels aren't reliable. They always get bored and scamper away before a full minute even passes. That's why you gotta hire a salamander."

"I did hire a salamander. I don't know where you got squirrel from."

"Oh! Well that's different. Let's go."

Raz grinned back at Milla and Oleander. "I speak his language."

* * *

><p>Lunch was a quiet affair. Raz couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was a stale taste to the afternoon. Not the food, it was fresh and zesty like all food at the Olive Garden. Rather the mood was what was stale. It wasn't until after the plates were clean but before the check came that Raz was able to put his finger on what was bothering him. Oleander had gone to the bathroom, and Cruller was staring blankly at the wall of the restaurant.<p>

The music on the speakers changed. A light Celtic song started to play.

_The Dutchman's not the kind of man  
>Who keeps his thumb jammed in the dam<br>That holds his dreams in,  
>But that's a secret that only Margaret knows.<em>

_When Amsterdam is golden in the morning,_  
><em>Margaret brings him breakfast,<em>  
><em>She believes him.<em>  
><em>He thinks the tulips bloom beneath the snow.<em>

_He's mad as he can be, but Margaret only sees that sometimes,_  
><em>Sometimes she sees her unborn children in his eyes.<em>

"Milla," said Raz, "when Ford's mind split in that psychic duel that left him... like he is now..."

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering, you know, why exactly he became like he is?"

"Well... because on his own, he can't wrap his mind around what he is, so he guesses based on broken memories and his surroundings."

"... It must be really hard for him to leave the mother load."

"Very hard. He is afraid that he won't find his way back."

_The Dutchman still wears wooden shoes,  
><em>_His cap and coat are patched with love  
>That Margaret sewed in.<br>Sometimes he thinks he's still in Rotterdam._

_He watches the tug-boats down canals_  
><em>And calls out to them when he thinks<em>  
><em>He knows the Captain.<em>  
><em>Till Margaret comes to take him home again<em>

_Through unforgiving streets that trip him, though she holds his arm,_  
><em>Sometimes he thinks he's alone and he calls her name.<em>

It must be horrible, Raz thought. He was still young, and adventurous, and he couldn't imagine being cooped up in a tiny place like that all day. Maybe Ford couldn't stand it, either. Maybe that's why he left, because at least if he lost his mind he wouldn't have to think about everything else he'd lost.

_The windmills swirl the winter wind  
>She winds his muffler tighter<br>They sit in the kitchen.  
>And the tea with whiskey keeps away the dew.<em>

_He sees her for a moment, calls her name,_  
><em>She makes his bed up humming<em>  
><em>Some old love song,<em>  
><em>She learned it when the tune was very new<em>

_He hums a line or two, they hum together in the night._  
><em>The Dutchman falls asleep and Margaret blows the candle out.<em>

_Let us go to the banks of the ocean_  
><em>Where the walls rise above the Zuider Zee.<em>  
><em>Long ago, I used to be a young man<em>  
><em>And dear Margaret remembers that for me.<em>

Raz and Milla were quiet until Oleander returned. "You paid the check yet?"

"Not yet," said Milla. "We're waiting for the waitress."

"Huh. Hey, where's Ford?"

It was just then that Milla and Raz realized that they were the only ones at the table. Raz jumped up into a standing position on his chair. "When did that happen?"

"He must have left while we were talking," said Milla. "I don't know how he does that."

Oleander clapped his hands. "All right, troops, fall in. We'll organize a search and find him on the double! Milla- you flag down the waitress and settle our bill. Then commence a search of the restaurant and the immediate areas. Razputin, you'll search the strip mall and ask if anybody's seen him. I'll put my army tracking skills to good use and hunt him down. Let's move, move, move!"

Raz didn't waste a moment. He ran out of the restaurant and did a quick survey of the area.

The restaurant was in the corner of a small shopping plaza with a big parking lot and surrounded by busy roads on all sides. Inside the roads, besides the restaurant, was a strip of stores and a Big Lots across a stretch of asphalt. Raz started in the smaller stores. Nobody in the Dollar General had seen him, nor the Erol's Video, the nail salon, or the sub shop. Next in line was the comic shop.

The bell over the door rang to announce the entrance of a customer. There was a man behind the counter, who acknowledged Raz, but he seemed wrapped up in looking off to the right. Raz stepped into the store. Around the door it was packed with shelves displaying comic books, graphic novels, and tabletop game rule books. Across the way was the checkout counter, which was on a glass case displaying valuable trading cards and figurines.

"Hey, I'm looking for an old man, about this tall, wearing work overalls and pink slippers. Have you seen anyone like that?"

The clerk shook his head, then put his finger to his lips and pointed to the other side of the store. Raz looked.

The other half of the store was dedicated to gaming, as in the actual act of gaming. There were lots of tables, and currently all of them were pushed together. The entire surface of the table was covered with an elaborate miniature landscape, the kind used for tabletop war games. Naturally there were dozens and dozens of little painted figures set up in groups all over the table, clustered mainly around one end or the other.

The players of the game, sitting on opposite ends of the store, were none other than Allie and Nawrocki.

"Okay, is it my turn yet?"

"Yes. It is still your turn."

"Okay. So, I'm gonna move these little guys..."

"Space Marines."

"Yeah. How far can I move them?"

"Check your codex."

"This thing's huge. I have textbooks smaller than this thing.'

"You do not."

"So, like, can I move and attack?"

"Gee, I don't know the answer, it's probably the same as the last sixty times you asked me."

"Okay, I'm gonna move these guys."

"You already moved them."

"Yeah, like ten minutes ago."

"It's still the same turn. With an army this big, the turns are long. Also, we have to stop every four seconds to re-teach you the game."

"Oh... Can I move these guys, then?"

"No. Those are mine."

"I don't see your name on them!"

Suddenly Allie saw Raz looking at them. She straightened up, and pitched her voice half an octave higher for some reason. "Oh, wow, this sure is a fun game. I wouldn't rather be doing anything than sitting here playing Warhammer Fourty Thousand."

"Forty Kay," corrected Nawrocki.

"Pardon?"

"We're playing Warhammer 40K. Everyone pronounces it 'forty kay.'"

"Why can't I pronounce it Fourty Thousand?"

"Because that's not the way it's done. Everyone calls it 40K."

"What, did you go around and ask everyone on the whole planet, then?"

"No, I just used common sense. You're saying the whole thing wrong. You're saying K wrong. You're saying forty wrong."

"What? How'm I doing that?"

"You're an American, you're in America, and you're using a 'u' in the word 'forty.' "

"How can you hear that?"

"It doesn't have a 'u' if you're an American and you're in America. Standards and practices."

"It's a British game, though!"

"Yes, it's a British game, that we're playing in America. So unless you want to start saying every character's name with a phony accent, drop the u. It's standards and practices."

"Four has a 'u'. Fourteen has a 'u'. Four hundred has two 'u's. So why the hell doesn't forty have a 'u', huh, Mr. Smarty Plants? Did four hundred take it away or something?"

Raz, meanwhile, was laughing to himself. At the phrase 'smarty plants,' he totally lost it and doubled over, laughing as loud as he felt like it. When he composed himself, he saw Allie looking at him with wild eyes. "I can see you're having fun on your own," he said, still laughing. "I'll just take care of this problem myself."

"No, no I'm not. No, you can't. Please don't go. Please let me come with you. I don't like this game. It's boring and Nawrocki won't let me name the soldiers."

"That's because you give them stupid names."

"See ya," said Raz.

"Noooo," Allie whined. She tried to get up to follow him out, but couldn't because Nawrocki had grown vines and roots all under the table, which had wrapped her to the chair from the waist down.

"It's your turn, sport," said Nawrocki.

"Can you loosen these vines? I can't feel my toes anymore."

"That's just because you're not wearing shoes and it's cold. I already tried to loosen up and you tried to bolt."

"After this can we play the Neopets board game?"

"No." Nawrocki palm-rolled a handful of six siders. "That game is awful and I don't care for it. I just killed your marine."

"What? When?"

"Just now."

"Well... don't!"

The bell rang again, and after that Raz heard nothing else from inside the store.

Last in line was a coffee shop. Raz wasn't sure Ford could have gotten this far, but he went inside anyway. Imagine his surprise when he saw Ford Cruller standing there behind the counter, in a green apron, working the cappuccino machine.

"Ford!" Raz cried happily.

Ford held up the cup. "Small cappuccino for Dennis."

A man in a business suit came up, took the drink, thanked him, and left.

"Ford, when did you get here?"

"I'm all outta drinks," he said. "You gotta order over there! I'm not a mind reader."

"Ford, you don't work in a coffee shop."

"What? Then why'm I wearing this apron, then? Answer me that."

"Uh..."

"I worked here for years, and I don't need any young whippersnappers tellin' me where I am and am not employed."

Raz sent out a message to Milla and Oleander; "I found him. He's working in a coffee shop."

In an instant, they were there.

"It's much harder, this far away from any psitanium," said Milla as Oleander tried to wrangle Ford. "At the camp, he's not near the mother load above ground but there's still a fair amount of it around

"Is that why arrowheads are currency at the camp store? He knows it's valuable?"

"Yes."

Patiently, Milla coaxed Ford out from behind the counter. Once he took the apron off, he seemed to forget that he had ever been a barista. When he sat down in the back seat of the car, for a moment it looked like he forgot he had ever been anything.

_Let us go to the banks of the ocean  
>Where the walls rise above the Zuider Zee.<br>Long ago, I used to be a young man  
>And dear Margaret remembers that for me.<em>

Oleander saw how down Raz looked when they got out of the car back at the office (Milla had told him what they had been discussing.) "It's not all bad, soldier," said Oleander.

"Hm?" Raz looked at him curiously. "What's not?"

"Being multi-faceted the way he is. Did you wonder who's watching my rabbits while we're out here?"

"Um... I didn't, actually. Why, who is?"

Oleander dialed a number on his phone and handed it to Raz. It was the number for the emergency line just outside the main lodge.

After three rings, someone picked up. "Yeah, whatchya need?" It was unmistakeably Ford Cruller's voice.

Raz double-checked the number, and he was sure it belonged to the tethered land-line that was miles away. "Um... who am I speaking to?"

"Animal handler Cruller! Who's this?"

"Um... I'm looking for a camper named Hugh. Last name Jass. Can you see if he's around?"

"Hold on, I'll check."

Raz hung up the phone and shuddered. "That was unbelievably creepy." He followed the others back into the office where they had been working. Milla and Oleander were at two desks opposite each other, and Ford stood by a window, his back to it, looking out over the empty room. Either he could see something they couldn't, or he was searching for something that wasn't there.


	8. Old Partners

"_Omoide ni dakare te ima wa (Cherish these Memories)"  
><em>_from Perfect Blue OST  
><em>_Written by This Time  
><em>_Performed by Misa_

"_Waterloo (single)"  
><em>_ABBA 1974_

* * *

><p>With nothing better to do at the moment, Sasha decided to look into Dr. Loboto. There was something in his background that was tied to the case, Sasha could tell. He followed the address that Dr. Forever had given him to the office of Dr. Kybard. He found it in a classy industrial park on the second floor of a quaint brick building surrounded by greenery. The carpet was thin and the lights fluorescent, but the walls were clean and the signage was clear. Sasha had no problem locating the office.<p>

Fred, meanwhile, had opted to wait in the car. "If he worked with Dr. Loboto, I don't want anything to do with him," he'd said. "Besides, he's probably a dentist, and I don't go to the dentist any more than I need to."

"That's fine," said Sasha. "Just don't open the doors for anyone and keep the windows up." The weather was cool, so air wouldn't be a problem. The windows were tinted, and indeed the whole car was pretty secure for a car. So he didn't worry about Fred much- not that he thought Fred was in any immediate danger- as he located the office.

As soon as he opened the door, though, he felt something was wrong. The door was heavy and swung closed behind him- accompanied by a click. The door was locked.

Inside it was quiet, except for the hum of the night and the filter of a large aquarium, full of water and plants but no fish. There was a counter for a receptionist, but the only thing behind it was a large computer that looked as if it would be more at home in the 1950s than a modern day dentist office.

Most unsettling, though, was the magazine arrangement on the table: National Geographic, Opera Digest, Enquirer, Sheet Music Quarterly, Cosmopolitan, American Girl, Cat Fancy, and Entertainment Weekly. They were cascaded so that the first letter of each magazine spelled out, in a creepy patchwork fashion, NOESCAPE (or, if you were being picky, NOESCAPEntertainment.)

A little girl, around Raz's age, peeked out from the door to the exam rooms. "The doctor will be with you shortly," she said. Before Sasha could say anything she was gone.

Sasha sat down. He drummed his fingers. He picked up Opera Digest to see what was playing at the Hippodrome. Then he remembered he wasn't a patient and put the magazine back (now the arrangement read NatESCAPOpera, which was much less threatening.) Sasha knocked on the door. "I'm with the Psychonauts. I need to speak with you."

"Just a minute," Dr K. sang from behind the door. "I'm washing my hair." This close to the door, Sasha could hear music coming from the room.

_omoide ni dakarete ima wa okubyou ni natte  
>itami sae kanjirarenai ikikata erande'ru<em>  
>(Held by memories, in this moment, I turn into a coward<br>And choose a life in which I can't feel pain)

Then the door opened and Sasha was face to face with a sandy-haired thirtysomething with crazy eyes and a winning smile. "Do you have insurance?" he asked.

"I'm here to ask you about Dr. Loboto."

"I see. That's not an answer to my question."

"I'm not here to have my teeth cleaned."

"So you say."

Dr. Kybard shut his mouth and wouldn't say or do anything until Sasha finally said that he did have insurance through his work.

"That's the best kind," said Dr. K. "Right this way." He opened the door and stepped aside.

"I'm not here to have my teeth cleaned," Sasha repeated as he stepped through the door.

"So you say." He guided Sasha to an exam room. "Wait here." He closed the door without stepping through, and again it locked, leaving Sasha trapped. He telekenitcally reached into the doorknob, trying to find and set the pins, but he couldn't get a feel for it.

The girl from earlier was sitting in the office chair, reading a book with no title. "If you couldn't pay," she said, "he would have agreed to treat you anyway. Mentor is so generous."

"I am not here to have my teeth cleaned."

"So you say," said the girl, still reading.

Dr. Kybard let himself in. "Well, are you ready to begin?"

"Yes," said Sasha. "How did you know Dr. Loboto?"

"We worked together briefly."

"How briefly?"

"Two years," said Dr. K. "Two years too long."

"In what context did you work with him?"

Dr. K didn't answer. He busied himself at the tray of sterilized dentist tools. "You want me to talk about Loboto? I'll tell you what I know. But I only talk while I'm cleaning, if you get my drift."

"It's true," said the girl.

Dr. Kybard gestured to her. "My protege, Ego."

She waved.

Sasha had no patience. "It is vitally important that you-"

"On my terms," said Dr. K.

Sasha debated with himself, but he coudn't deny how important the information was. In the end, he sat down in the dentist chair.

Immediately a re-purposed belt shot out from the chair around his waist, securing him in the seat. Two more held his wrists in place. "What are you-?"

"Relax," said Dr. K. "They react to your tension. It's just to keep you in place."

"Do you often have patients try to escape?"

"They're too easily intimidated," said Dr. K. "You use one little experimental sander and they make for the door. But I never try anything on my patients that I haven't tried on myself. And I'm hypersensitive to touch, so if it's fine for me you know you can handle it. Incidentally, I don't get any psychic patients, so you'll find I can place no limitations on your mental abilities."

"You're just as crazy as Loboto," said Sasha.

"I am not crazy," said Dr. K, irritated. "I don't stand people, so I throw all the energy that should be put into socializing into my work. I love to invent new ways to make it more efficient. Innovate new ways to keep teeth healthy. Imagine a procedure so efficient and effective that you only have to see the dentist once every five years!"

"You'd go out of business."

"Not me, I'd have the patent money. That's why I love innovating. Actually, that's why I partnered up with Loboto in the first place. Open your mouth. Thank you. Now," and Dr. K started to clean, "Loboto dreamed of new and bigger inventions, though his were to torture his patients. I couldn't stomach that sort of thing. But what kept me with him was his promise that we would remove the biggest tooth of all. It was a pipe dream, sure, but I was captivated. The man had such a way with polysyllabic words."

Sasha grunted and Dr. K removed his tools from Sasha's mouth. "You helped invent the super sneezing powder?"

"What? No! Of course not! When I realized he was talking about the human brain, I dropped him like a hot tomato." He went back to cleaning the teeth. "I met him... let's say... just two years ago? I was in the market for a new dentist, and he was available. I didn't know it then but he'd just gotten out of Thorny Towers. He said he escaped on the back of a black swan. Lots of G-men came around then, nosing about, asking questions. They cornered me, demanding to know what Loboto was telling me about Thorny Towers. He didn't tell me jack, so I didn't tell them jack. Best I can figure they wanted to take him back but couldn't get near him. He got himself off that island, all right.

"Oleander went to the island, I think that's what started this all, right? But he wasn't the only person in fifty years who paid them a visit. Black swans have been coming and going. Oleander came in a boat, so Loboto knew he wasn't one of them. Oleander took him to the mainland so he could get what he needed, and that's about when I met him. Only for a while. I never met Oleander, but he didn't know about me. If he did, he would have driven me out.

"All in all, if you want my opinion, someone was keeping tabs on the island, someone who didn't want them to leave and who wanted to take over the world. Loboto knew it- he told me as much, more or less. Much less. But they couldn't stay. Loboto said that the miracle would come through, if not for the madness.

"'I like you, Johnny,' he'd say," and when Dr. Kybard imitated Loboto he sounded almost exactly like him, right down the crackly, cackley voice. "'You're not like the others, but you're not like me. You're gonna go places.' What kind of places? 'Oh, not the places they're sending you. You want my advice? Go to the island and conquer your madness like I did. You'll find a way to bring it all out and with you, and then no one can stop you. Brain tanks? They're just the beginning. They don't know it. I know it.' Well, now, you're just being crazy, I said. 'Of course I am,' he told me, 'but those government men who've been swarming around the island? They come and visit every few years. They know it, too, but they don't know that I know it. No one can know it.' And I said, I can know it. 'Oh, well, yes, you can know it. You see, we weren't supposed to be there, and that was the mistake they wanted to cover up. But when they found we were there, they unlocked the secret that's going to blow this whole thing sky high. The Whispering Rock? No, my dear boy, we've found the Philosopher's Stone!' I asked him what the hell he was talking about, and the conversation went in circles for a while after that.

"Now rinse and spit."

Sasha obliged and was amazed at how fresh his mouth was. "You're saying Oleander didn't bring them to the island."

"That's right."

"He told us he did."

"Ask him again."

"He wouldn't lie about that."

"No. But he may not know he's leading you wrong. Not all Psychics are working for the Psychonauts, for good. The Brain Tank affair is proof of that." Dr. K released Sasha's straps. "Ego, please bring this man his parting gifts."

Ego got up and scuttled out without a word.

"I like you," said Dr. K, "so I'm going to give you a 'next action.' It's not about brushing or flossing- your brushing is fantastic, by the way, I was pleased. No, you need to find the golden goose."

Ego came back with a small brown package tied with twine.

"Godspeed, Sasha Nein. I have one more thing for you. Nothing up my sleeves," he shook out the sleeves of his doctor's coat. "Impactio defactio, tickity-boo!" He reached behind Sasha's ear. "Hold out your hand." Sasha did so, and Dr. K dropped a few broken teeth into his hand. "Those were going to start coming in. You had your lower second molars taken out but not the uppers?"

"They weren't supposed to come in."

"Well, they changed their mind."

Sasha pocketed his teeth and his package, and then quick as he could left the office. Mercifully the doors in front of him were unlocked. Fresh breath or no, Sasha didn't want to stay in that office another second.

When he got outside he kept his eyes down, so he didn't see his car until he was right on top of it. The driver's side door was open and the window was smashed. The seat belt had been cut. There was some blood on the pavement, not a lot. The dash had been hot-wired and a CD was playing.

_My my, I tried to hold you back but you were stronger  
>Oh yeah, and now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight<br>And how could I ever refuse?  
>I feel like I win when I lose!<em>

_Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war..._


	9. The Theater

Sasha set up a crime scene around the car, but there were just no clues. Whoever did it was familiar with both standard CSI techniques and psychic CSI techniques, and had done a stellar job of covering his or her tracks. The blood on the asphalt belonged to Fred only, the CD in the player was stripped of identifying information, the kidnapper left nothing behind, and Sasha had nothing to work with.

There wasn't a lot of time to focus on that, though, because some equally distressing news reached them two days later: Gloria von Gouten was in the hospital following a suicide attempt. She was found in her apartment, having overdosed on prescription medications, and hadn't yet regained consciousness. No more information was available, so they had to make a special trip to New Jersey for information.

"It doesn't fit, it doesn't add up," Raz was saying on the car ride. This time it was only him and Sasha. "Her mother's suicide really messed her up. She started a suicide prevention clinic, she had all the resources right there!"

"You're right," said Sasha. "It doesn't add up."

They eventually arrived at the hospital where Gloria had been admitted. It was so close to New York City that you could see the skyline from the road. Sasha went right in, flashed his badge to the administrator, and said, "I need to crack a mind."

While Sasha negotiated the terms, Raz took a look at his surroundings. He noticed a familiar face in the waiting room that they were next to. He had to get closer to see for sure, and he couldn't see the face as it sobbed buried in her hands, but Raz could guess who it was. "Crystal?"

Crystal looked up. Her face was blotchy and tearstained, but it hadn't changed much in the year since Raz had seen her. "Raz?"

"Yep."

"Wow. Are you a double Psychonaut yet?"

"Not quite," said Raz. He sat down in the chair next to her. "How have you been?"

"I was great, thanks to Gloria!" Crystal had trouble talking between sobs. "We met like right after camp when she and the others were passing through Whispering Rock, and she knew something was wrong with me right away! She got me and Clem the best help in the world! I was so much better I couldn't even remember why I wanted to die in the first place, 'cause life is so, so much fun!"

"No wonder you're so upset. Sounds like she means a lot to you."

"Yeah," said Crystal, "but... it's not just that. It's... she was so sure of herself, so full of life and good thoughts, and she had all the same therapies as the rest of us. If she couldn't get better, what hope is there for the rest of us? How long before we all fall back down like she did?"

"Wow." That was quite a bombshell.

Sasha gestured for Raz to follow him. "I have to go," said Raz "But we'll find out what happened. And I'll set it right, I promise."

Crystal nodded and wiped her eyes. "I should have known. Everything will be better when you fix it."

"Yeah. Just don't give up because of this. Okay?"

"Okay." She gave him a weird little smile, like her face had forgotten how.

Sasha and Raz went to Gloria's room. It was weird seeing her like this, so pale and sunken when she was usually a shining beacon to everyone around her. Raz had noticed it even in her conservatory at the asylum when she was performing for the pots and plants, but she had a certain glow about her, a radiance that couldn't be seen but could most certainly be sensed, and it penetrated everyone in her presence. That energy was gone now.

"Part of her brain is still active. We must talk to her in her subconscious." He placed a psycho-portal on her forehead. "Are you ready?"

Raz pulled his goggles down. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>Inside Gloria's mind was about the same as the last time Raz had been there- it was an empty theater getting ready for a play based on Gloria's memories. The only thing that had changed was the set, which was now an incomplete, half-painted slab of balsa wood. Right now the flowers were running about, trying to keep the set from falling over, and Becky was pacing the stage and looking at her clipboard. Bonita Soleil, Gloria's muse, was sitting on a crate on the edge of the stage, almost in the wing, with her wrap over her head. She watched the other actors and the director with mild interest. Up in the balcony, tiny Jasper was struggling to keep his chin above the railing so he could see the play enough to criticize it, but he wasn't having much luck; he kept falling back into his seat and then couldn't get back up because he was so round.<p>

As soon as Sasha and Raz appeared, Becky spotted them. "Oh, good, the understudy!" Becky said with relief. "Our leading man dropped out and we need him to finish the play."

"What's the play this week?" asked Raz, joining Becky.

"The Betrayal of Gloria." She handed Sasha the script. "Here. I made some changes to pages 7 and 23."

Sasha thumbed through the script. "This is the story of how Gloria ended up attempting suicide."

"It's a new play," said Becky. "We haven't opened yet."

"If you want to know what happens, we'll have to do the play," said Raz. As it often works in dreams, Sasha could not read the script through but would know what to say when it was time for him to say it, as long as he had the script.

"Come on, AD," said Becky. It took a minute for Raz to remember that the last time he was in Gloria's mind, Becky had made him the Assistant Director.

"Oh, fantastic," Tiny Jasper called from the balcony in his pitched-up chipmunk voice. "As if the play couldn't get any more dreadful, it's Amateur Night at Gloria's Theater."

"Shut up," said Raz as he passed by Jasper's balcony seat.

"Don't tell me to shut up!" Jasper shouted, leaning over the rail. "I'm entitled to my opinion!"

Raz psiblasted him into his bag of popcorn.

Bonita Soleil strided confidently onstage. "Are we ready to rehearse?" she asked in her incredibly deep man-voice.

"Places!" Becky ordered.

One of the flowers came out onstage. "The beautiful Gloria has just returned from her extended stay at Thorney Towers."

"And it feels wonderful to be back in the theater." Bonita's voice was completely different now- it was light and strong and incredibly feminine, reminiscent of Alice Playten's early years. She stood upstage center, her wrap off, her glow filling the theater with light. Though a spotlight was trained on her, it was hardly needed. "To be touching so many lives through my performances and my charity work, it's all I ever dreamed of as I was locked up, a prisoner of my psyche."

Silence.

Raz looked around.

"Leading man!" Becky hissed. "Leading man, it's your line!"

Raz tiptoed through the wing and came up beside Sasha. "Psst! You're on!"

Sasha looked up from the script. "Oh!" Raz nudged him onstage.

"Thanks," whispered Becky.

Sasha cleared his throat. "Gloria von Gouten, you are just as beautiful as you are talented. I present to you this giant novelty check to benefit your charity, but take it also as a token of my love." Since this wasn't a dress rehearsal, the props weren't entirely ready. Sasha had to pantomime handing over a large check.

Several flowers and puppies danced onstage and circled around Bonita. "We love you, Gloria! Thank you for everything!"

"I love you children, too," said Bonita. "I may have been forgotten since my extended leave from the stage, but all that matters is that I'm back."

Raz watched the play from the wing. "Wow," he said to himself. "I'd never admit it to Jasper, but these plays are kind of terrible."

Becky called, "Someone get ready to hit the mood light!"

Sasha, holding the script in one hand, reached into his pocket and found three small jewelry cases. "I have gifts for you, my love. A pair of earrings to decorate your lovely ears. A necklace to highlight your pretty face... and a ring that is my promise to always love you."

"Okay, good," said Becky. "Now kiss."

"Sorry," said Bonita. "I only kiss during dress rehearsals."

"Right, sorry."

"Aw." Raz would have enjoyed seeing Sasha and Bonita Soleil have to kiss. That would have been one for the memory vault.

"Now change the lights," Becky directed.

Raz reached up into the catwalks with his telekinesis and spun the mood light around. Immediately the whole theater changed. The bright yellows, pinks, and greens turned into deep blues and grays. The other cast members grew sharp fangs and claws. The soft curves of the set became harsh and angular. The only things that didn't change were the stagehands and the psychonauts. Even Bonita's glow dimmed.

Sasha flipped forward in his script. One of the flowers came out and recited, "A year has passed, gentle autumn to bitter winter, to glorious spring and beautiful summer. But as we come upon autumn once more, it will lead into the winter of her discontent."

Without much emotion, Sasha read, "Gloria, I'm leaving you. As you have made me a partner in your theater, I have weaseled my way in and stripped you of all your rights. I never loved you. Now you are alone, and nobody remembers your name." He turned around and marched offstage, standing next to Raz in the wings.

"Good job," Raz whispered.

"Hm." Sasha was watching Bonita, kneeling downstage center. "You really think so?"

Bonita let out an anguished wail. "I came back only to find that my legacy had vanished. The roles I played, the lives I touched... who remembers? But even without that, I had a man who loved me. Now I have nothing. My legacy can vanish, and so too it seems can my heart- no, wait. My legacy can vanish, but not... ugh." Bonita's voice went back to normal. "Line!"

Becky prompted, "Though my legacy can vanish, not my heart- oh, so too can my heart!"

"Oh, though. I got it." She switched back to her stage voice. "Though my legacy can vanish, not my heart- oh, so too can my heart! I cannot go on."

She lay down on the stage. All was still, then the lights changed to normal. Becky clapped a few times. "Okay, curtains come down, everybody bows, not a dry eye in the house. Good job, everyone."

Bonita got up and put her shawl back on. "Thanks," she said in her normal voice to Sasha.

"It was nothing," said Sasha. "Very enlightening."

"I hope Gloria doesn't stay like this for long," said Bonita. "We were just starting to get new material."

From the balcony, Jasper squawked, "That was awful! That was a disgusting piece of tripe that would make people vomit and then go home to watch mindless drivel on television because your poor excuse for a theater production frightened them away from developing culture, as you've given them a horrifyingly warped view of it!"

"Hey!" Bonita shouted. "Keep jabbering! I need some white noise to help me fall asleep!"

"Does he ever shut up?" asked Raz.

Bonita shrugged.

"Come, Razputin." Sasha nudged Raz in the shoulder. "I think we've seen all that we need to."

"Is there anything we can do for Gloria?"

"Not right now."

Everything went white, Raz felt himself floating, and then gravity dropped him back into his body. He stumbled backwards. They were back in the hospital. "That kind of makes me dizzy," said Raz.

Sasha took the psycho-portal back. "Tell me what you got from that," said Sasha. He used everything as a teaching moment these days.

"Well, Gloria was really happy to be back, but then her boyfriend was a jerk."

Sasha and Raz walked back to the administration area by where they came in "Could you distract the woman at the desk for me?"

"Uh, okay."

Sasha disappeared. Raz cleared his throat. "Uh, hello, I'm looking for my sister. She's having a baby and I'm not sure which hospital she's in." Raz pulled out his ID. "My name is Razputin Aquato and my sister's name is Amanda."

"Amanda Aquato..." The receptionist started typing.

"Oh! I forgot! She's probably registered under her married name. She just married her high school sweetheart, uh, Charlie Cuddlewith."

Just then another staff member came out from the door behind the desk area. "Hey, Bev."

"Hey, Ida."

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for Amanda Cuddlewith."

Ida looked over Bev's shoulder. "While you're on the clock? Shouldn't you be working?"

"I am, what-" then suddenly it clicked. She pointed accusingly to Raz. "You little brat!"

Ra was laughing. Then he saw Sasha gesture for him down the hallway and he took off, the ladies shaking their fists at him.

"Where were you?" Raz asked as they got out into the parking lot.

He pulled out an envelope. "I needed to see Gloria's jewelry."

"You broke into the hospital safe?"

"Sometimes a psychonaut is entitled to bend the rules to achieve a greater goal."

"You broke into the hospital safe."

Sasha tipped the envelope over and poured out the jewelry- sterling silver French hooks with sparkling stones set in each, a thin white gold chain with a pendant, and a white gold ring with a modest stone set in it. All the stones and the pendant were the same, a purple and glittering rock. "Just as I suspected. Pure psitanium."

"Someone gave her jewelry with psitanium?"

Sasha nodded.

"... On purpose?"

"I can't be sure at this point." He put the envelope in his inside coat pocket. "But I can't rule it out." He unlocked the car and they got in. "I'm afraid they're all in danger. Immediate danger, most likely. I need to call headquarters and have the others moved to a safe location." He shook his head. "I should have made the order sooner," he thought, but he didn't guard the thought and Raz heard him.

"I hope Fred's okay," was all Raz could think to say.

"I'm reasonably certain he's still alive."

* * *

><p>He was still alive.<p>

For two days he'd been in a ten-by-ten room with a concrete floor and stone walls. There was no door handle on the inside. No one had said anything. He hadn't even seen anyone since he was taken at the car. They'd blindfolded him, tied his hands behind his back, transported him, and threw him in the room. He'd had no contact since then. He'd managed to wriggle his hands free and used the blindfold to bandage his hand, which was still bleeding on and off. No one had given him food. No one had given him water. No one had spoken to him.

For two days he'd sat there, alone.

Somehow, he wasn't afraid.


	10. Oblongata

_I'm glad you're enjoying the story if you're enjoying the story- thanks for letting me know what you're thinking, it means the world to me! If you have any criticisms, too, don't be afraid to leave them. I'll put on my big girl pants and take them into consideration. Also, I'd love to know what you think is going to happen- I just love to know what people are guessing! And don't worry about Fred. He'll be fine. In fact, we're going to send him to live on a nice farm upstate, where he can stretch his long legs and race his pinewood derby cars and play with other mental patients like him. XD_

* * *

><p>The situation was dire when Sasha got back. He went to HQ and into the conference room that the TTTF (Thorny Towers Task Force) had taken over, Raz on his heels. In that room they found Milla, Oleander, Ford, and Edgar Teglee. Edgar was drawing on the large whiteboard at one end, and "Janitor Cruller" was cleaning the whiteboard at the other, seemingly unaware that somebody was un-cleaning it at the other end.<p>

"Where are the others?" asked Sasha, looking around.

"Well..." Milla hesitated, counting the ex-patients in her mind.. "Loboto is under complete lockdown. No one gets in to see him except Dr. Forever. Their security is equal to what we would provide, and they won't release him." She took a deep breath. "Boyd is-"

"Boyd snapped a few hours before we got to him," Oleander cut her off brusquely. "Started flinging molotov cocktails and calling himself the milkman. He's in the psych ward for the next 72 hours 'till they figure out what to do with him. They won't turn him over."

Sasha counted on his fingers. "Shegor, Edgar, Fred, Gloria, Boyd, Loboto...and Crispin?"

"Crispin is dead," said Milla.

Silently, Sasha pulled out a chair and sat down, his forehead in his hands.

"Are you all right?" Milla asked gently.

"What do they want," Sasha said out loud, not as a question.

"That's not all," said Milla. "We finally found some old archives of Thorney Towers. As far as we can tell, these are the only records still in existence. Someone was trying to erase it. They're heavily censored- everything is. There's no record of any of the inmates existing until last summer. Except for one." She pushed the box to Sasha. "Sheena Thorny."

Sasha picked up the first packet of paper and began to read.

* * *

><p>SIXTY-ONE YEARS EARLIER...<p>

"Don't do this," said Martha.

Houston Thorney was packing up his office. He was busy picking his most important possessions and storing them in a large box situated on his desk. "This insanity is becoming an epidemic," he said. "I can't stay here."

"But you're the last link this town has to sanity," she pleaded.

"This place is turning into a ghost town," said Houston. He scanned his bookshelf to see which textbooks were worth keeping. "Remember the Martins, who we carpooled to church with every Sunday? They moved out to Arizona. And Pastor Wilson, who led the service? He's in Ward D. He tried to crucify himself. I don't know why, we're not Catholic! My youngest daughter's math teacher is in a room right across the hall. Her English teacher from last year moved as soon as school was over. The entire theater troupe moved to Oregon, except for the three we committed. The bookstore closed, the butcher shop closed, the contractors left before finishing the department store, it's skeleton just sits there- oh, except we had to commit two contractors."

Martha took Houston's hand. "But we need you here."

Houston gently tugged his hand free. "There are more residents in the asylum than in the town. There's nothing more we can do. Out of all the people who have been admitted, how many have left without the aid of an undertaker?" Houston went back to his desk and began packing his drawers. "I hardly have any staff left. They don't even have to go anywhere, just punch out and find themselves in a straitjacket. Just this morning I had to lock up my chief orderly..." Houston paused, his eyes getting a faraway look. "He wasn't entirely himself, but when he was... you should have seen the look of betrayal in his eyes. It was like I'd broken a pact of trust."

Martha caught his eyes and said gently, "What would your wife want?"

"To take our children somewhere safe," said Houston. "God rest her soul, she wouldn't want me to stay in a doomed ghost town. Maureen will be a junior in the fall, she needs an education that isn't getting disrupted by teachers changing and merging with other classes due to diminished size. And Brent needs to have a steady job, one that doesn't disappear once his boss gets committed or moves. Besides, Sheena needs this the most. She's so shy and quiet, she needs to be somewhere that isn't smothering her with screaming lunatics. She's brilliant, but how can she study with all this?

"I'm doing this for Sheena..." He suddenly flopped down in his desk chair. Martha listened patiently. "She wants to be a brilliant psychiatrist, or something, and come back to work here. She really wants to help everybody, but it's tearing her apart. The poor thing is afraid of her own shadow sometimes, and I don't blame her; how many times has it turned out to be a madman grabbing at her rather than just her reflection?"

Just then, someone slammed their entire body into the door, then again. Houston, used to the lunatics, rolled his eyes, nudged Martha aside, and opened the door. Here was his old chief orderly, out of his room but still in a straitjacket. "Um, hello," he said timidly.

Houston frowned. "Who gave you that hat?"

He looked up, as if just realizing what was on his head. "What, this? Um, I don't know, it just-

"It is ze proud uniform of zees army!

"Sorry. Uh, I just wanted to report-"

Houston held up his hand. "I'm gonna stop you right there. You're not an orderly anymore, you're a patient."

"Huh? Oh, I know. I mean, I just thought-

"It eez my misfortune to report to you zat zere is a new patient!"

"Stop the presses," said Houston flatly.

"No, it's just... um... oh, jeeze... I really don't know how to tell you this, but... well... you really ought to know, so... um... uh...

"Oh, just spit eet out already, you fool! Your daughter, Sheena Thorney. She has just been, how you say, committed to ze asylum!

"Hey, I'm trying to be tactful, here!

"You are pathetic.

"Erm... Dr. Thorney? I'm really sorry.

"_Quelle domage."  
><em>  
>Two real orderlies caught up, tackled him, and dragged him away ("Vive la France!")<p>

Houston stood in the doorway, staring out at the empty air.

Martha stepped up behind him. "Er, Houston? Are you all right?"

Houston didn't respond. His eyes glazed over, and it looked like he was trapped in a pocket of time that had stopped moving forward.

Then, suddenly, he took off at a run. Martha tried to follow but he was too fast. Still, she knew where he was going, so she asked for directions and got herself to Sheena's room. Or, rather, padded cell. She found Houston sitting on the floor, his arms around his daughter, both of them rocking. Sheena was almost unrecognizable, her eyes sunken, hair pulled out, body hunched over. Over and over Houston whispered, "You were so brilliant... you were going to save us all... how could this happen?" and both of them sobbing. They stayed that way for what seemed like hours.

Then, finally, when Sheena had fallen asleep, Houston eased her off him, got up, and tiptoed out. Martha was waiting for him outside. "What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Well, I can't leave," he said. "She's here, I can't leave."

"Do you need-" she started, but he brushed her aside and walked off down the hall, leaving her alone.

That night, Houston Thorney threw himself off of the highest tower of the asylum. His body was found early the next morning. Though the asylum would remain open for a short time after that, everyone knew that once Thorney lost his mind, the town was over.

* * *

><p>Five years later, Shaky Claim was a ghost town. Pellicano stood on a precipice overlooking the town below. He couldn't believe it had come to this. How had it come to this? He had his orders; he even agreed with his orders, but he still couldn't believe it was what had to be done.<p>

He could see his scout coming up the hill with the report already. "Good news, Agent Nero?" he asked when the scout came into hearing range.

"The last car just pulled out," he said. "She didn't want to leave. We gave her the check, and she just kept crying, saying she should have let him leave when he wanted. It was awful."

Pellicano frowned. "Everyone in that town had a story... and I guess all of them are tragic."

Nero cleared his throat. "Well, anyway, it's over- they're all gone. The homes are empty and the last bus from the asylum left yesterday. The patients are all in Somewhere Hills."

"Hope they didn't bring the epidemic with them," said Pellicano.

"Maybe the Psychonauts will have better luck than we did."

Pellicano looked across the valley at the dam. then held up his flare gun.

"Are you sure we shouldn't wait?"

"I buried my sister in Shaky Claim," said Pellicano.

"Eesh."

Pellicano fired his flare gun. All was silent for a moment, then slowly the sound of roaring water grew louder and louder until it was nearly deafening. And when it settled, Shaky Claim was gone. Pellicano was standing on the shore of a lake.

"Wow," said Nero.

"An so, the Shaky Claim Dilemma has come to an end."

"Nice lake," Nero offered.

Pellicano nodded. "Lake... Oblongata." He stood there, surveying his work with a feeling of pride.

* * *

><p>Sasha put the papers down. It was late- only Milla was still awake. She had been watching him read the entire time. "What do you think it means?"<p>

"It could mean any number of things," said Sasha. "Someone was trying to recreate the asylum by rounding up similar mental patients and having them shipped over. Someone could be falsifying these records to cover their tracks." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small package that Ego and Dr. Kybard had given him. He'd forgotten about it in the confusion that ensued upon leaving the office, and not remembered it until just now. "Or..."

He remembered Dr. Kybard imitating Dr. Loboto's sinister voice, _"The Whispering Rock? No, my dear boy, we've found the Philosopher's Stone!"_

Sasha pulled the string and the package fell open. Inside was a small packet of dental floss, a new toothbrush,a tiny tube of toothpaste, and a note: _Do not believe his lies. He is the one._ Sasha picked up the note and a small photograph slipped down onto the table top. It was a weathered, black-and-white photo, the head-shot of a middle-aged man.

He held up the picture so Milla could see. "Do you recognize this man?" he asked.

Milla took it and studied it carefully. Finally, she frowned and handed it back. "No," she said, "I don't."

"Then it looks like we have more research to do."

* * *

><p>Fred wasn't counting days by any external force, so he wasn't sure how long he'd been in here anymore. Actually, he wasn't sure he was still in the same place. The room looked the same, but it didn't at the same time. The cracks on the walls were different. The door was on the short side of the room rather than the long side. There actually <em>was<em>a short side, when he remembered the room being square.

Some moisture collected on in the corner of the room sometimes. It only changed status when he slept, but sometimes he woke up and there was water, and sometimes he woke up and there wasn't. What was going on? The water was barely enough to keep him from going insane, but collecting it drop by drop gave him something to do.

"Is this what a prisoner of war feels like?" he wondered. He tried to say it out loud but his voice refused to cooperate. Then he tried hard not to think of an answer, because he didn't know anything about war, and there was no good reason for him to! This has nothing to do with war!

Fred tried to keep tally marks of how many times he fell asleep and woke up, to sort of keep track of the days, but he never made more than three tally marks before he woke up and they were gone.


	11. Paranoia

A copy of the timeline from the parking lot of Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp, taken from the Archives of the Psychonauts.

_1505: Enormous, Psitanium-bearing meteorite strikes the Earth, leaving a giant crater  
><em>_1805: Native inhabitants begin making arrowheads out of the Psitanium, which they call by the name 'Whispering Rock'. This is a rough English translation_**.  
><strong>_1905: Prospectors and settlers take over the area, naming their boom town, 'Shaky Claim'.  
><em>_1906: First case of 'Paranormal hysteria' diagnosed in Shaky Claim.  
><em>_1930: Houston Thorny builds his Home for the Demented to deal with the insanity epidemic  
><em>_1945: More residents in Asylum than in the town. Houston Thorny commits suicide by leaping from the tower  
><em>_1950: Asylum closes. Last valley residents paid to leave by the federal government, who flood the crater to prevent habitation. Lake Oblongata is created.  
><em>_2000: Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp founded to nurture and train future Psychonauts  
><em>_2004: Nils gets to first base with Elka Doon  
><em>_2005: A plot to rule the world using tanks powered by the brains of psychic children is foiled by Razputin Aquato, who goes on to  
>become the youngest Psychonaut in history.<em>

Timeline of the only surviving information on Houston Thorney, cobbled together from old documents:**  
><strong>_1891: Houston Thorney is born in the town of Shaky Claim, second of nine children. Seven survive to adulthood.  
><em>_1910: Acceptance into Psychic and Psychiatric University, the most prestigious university dedicated to studying psychic minds and the rapidly developing field of psychiatry  
><em>_1914: Graduates with a 4.0 GPA and a bachelor's degree in Psychology. Further study is put off by the outbreak of World War I.  
><em>_1917: Returns home due to injury sustained in combat  
><em>_1918: Marries Martha Sawyer, his high school sweetheart  
><em>_1920: Birth of his first child  
><em>_1923: Received his doctorate in Psychiatry. Much of his thesis was on the study of the phenomenon of "Paranormal Hysteria." After graduation, he returns to Shaky Claim  
><em>_1925: Birth of his second child, Brent Thorney  
><em>_1928: Birth of his third and final child, Maureen Thorney  
><em>_1930: With the help of the town, he builds his Home for the Demented to deal with the insanity epidemic  
><em>_1932: Martha takes ill and dies in the summer from an undetermined illness  
><em>_1945: Houston Thorney commits suicide by leaping from the tower._

Information on his lineage through Brent Thorney is as follows:  
><em>1925: Brent is born to Martha and Houston Thorney<br>__1943: Rejected from joining the army to fight in World War II.  
><em>_1946: Brent finally leaves Shaky Claim, marries Dorothy Banks, and learns a trade instead of attending a university like his father  
><em>_1948: Birth of Brent's first child, a daughter named Virginia.  
><em>_1949: Birth of Brent's second child, a son named Clarence Houston.  
><em>_1978: Dorothy dies- cause not found, presumed to be illness  
><em>_1999: Brent of natural causes_

Further research showed that Clarence Houston Thorney was currently living in College Park, Maryland, working at the psychic branch of the University of Maryland. There was a picture of him on the university's website. It looked like it had been taken only a few years ago. When compared with the aged photo that Dr. Ky had given Sasha, there could be no question. _**He is the one.**_**  
><strong>**  
><strong>**"**We have to send someone to Maryland," Sasha said, standing up and pushing the computer away. His legs were cramping from sitting at the conference table for so long.

**"**Should we both go?" asked Milla.

**"**No. Someone needs to keep trying until they let us contact Boyd. And keep the psychic protections around Loboto. And get them to release Crispin's body."

**"**Why don't I talk to Thorney? If you need to get information, I think I would have an easier time talking to him. And you're much better at getting the government to release information to our department."

Sasha handed Milla the photo. "If you're sure."

She took the photo and glanced at it. "What's this written here?"

**"**The note came with the picture, from Dr. Ky."She read it out loud: "Do not believe his lies. He is the one." Milla looked up. "Isn't that from a movie?"

**"**I don't watch movies," said tapped her chin.

"I remember. Memento. It came out five, maybe seven years ago?"

**"**I saw that movie!" Raz piped up. "It's about a guy who can't make new memories and he's looking for the guy who killed his wife and ruined his brain. The whole thing is told backwards. Nils isn't the only kid who gets to watch R-rated movies."

Milla looked back at the photo. "I wonder if it means anything."

**"**It could mean he's leading us wrong. The reference could be a clue in itself. Or it could mean Dr. Ky is a film buff who couldn't resist a reference when it was valid. In any case, we certainly can't ignore the fact that we just found a living descendent of Houston Thorney. Whether or not he is the one, and regardless of his honesty, it would be a grievous oversight to continue without making contact with him."

**"**All right. I'll just pack my overnight bag." She air-kissed Sasha's cheek and left. "I'm taking the jet."

Sasha flopped back down into his climbed into a seat next to Sasha. "Do you think we're getting close?"

Sasha didn't answer. He rested his forehead on his palm and thought. Eventually, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He picked it up. It was a text message: "_Boyd's lockdown's been loosened. If you want to see him now is the time._**" **A Psychonaut at the police station had sent it.

**"**Razputin, grab the analysis on Boyd Cooper and meet me at the car."

* * *

><p>Razputin read aloud the analysis in the car. "Prior to his commitment, Boyd Cooper had difficulty holding a job, though he never believed the problem was with him- Well, yeah, nobody ever thinks the problem is them. Anyway-When he was fired from Hernandos it triggered-"<p>

**"**Does it say Hernandos?"

**"**Yeah," said Raz. "This is from my report of his memory vault. I saw the sign and it said Hernandos."

**"**Are you absolutely sure it was Hernandos?"

**"**Yeah," said Raz. "What is Hernandos, anyway?"

**"**It was a department store chain that went out of business in America in the early 70s, though there are still a few operating in Europe and Australia."

**"**So... Boyd's not American?"

**"**He _is_American, and he's in his early forties."

**"**I don't get it."

**"**Keep reading."

**"**When he was fired from Hernandos, it triggered an outward explosion of latent anger. He fashioned a weapon out of what he had at hand, and returned with a case of milk bottle molotov cocktails to burn the department store down, calling himself 'The Milkman.' Because of this he was committed to a mental institution. This combined with the repeated firings sparked the belief that there was a conspiracy against him.

**"**Morceau Oleander brought him to Thorney Towers after finding out that he could use Boyd as a guard. Using psychic hypnosis he planted an idea inside his mind which manifested as a troop of cookie selling little girls and their den mother, who would awaken the Milkman persona when the time came to destroy the evidence. Until that time arrived, he would use his training at Hernandos to work as a security guard.

**"**Study into his mind shows that his censors were unable to locate the intruder, the Milkman, that the 'Rainbow Squirts' were hiding. They had to go undercover and attempt to lure it out of the brain. Only the work of a skilled Psychonaut- well, I wasn't a Psychonaut at the time but that's what it says- anyway, only the work of a skilled Psychonaut could lead the mental censors to the hidden mania of the Milkman.

**"**The mania, after awakening, was too strong for the censors. He proceeded to burn the remains of the asylum and much of the evidence." Raz closed the folder. "Wow. And all this time I just thought he was a nut."

**"**There is always a method to madness, Razputin."

**"**I was just kidding," said Raz. Pointing out that Sasha missed his humor was another way Raz had fun with him. "So Oleander thought Boyd had the perfect mind to be his guard... someone who would do exactly what he needed and wouldn't turn on him like in all the movies. But that doesn't explain..." Raz trailed off. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened as a thought hit him like a train. "Oh! Wait! Maybe it does- like, wherever Boyd came from, when he went missing, something happened, and the others knew what was going on, and he couldn't risk anyone taking them seriously or hacking their minds! That would explain why he brought Gloria and Edgar and Fred."

**"**That's a possibility." Sasha didn't say that it was, so far, the only possibility he could even think of that seemed plausible.

* * *

><p>Boyd was in a padded cell in a straitjacket. He was sitting in a corner, head down, eyes narrow, seething. They weren't listening. Why weren't they listening? Someone had gotten to the doctors at the clinic, clearly, but who? Big oil? The five richest families? Those damn crows again?<p>

**"**Someone is here to see you." That guard outside his door, he was definitely in on it. He was a suspicious, shadowy character, all right. He was familiar, too. Maybe Boyd had seen him talking to the dog track regulators, carrying their information to the foreign toy makers. Oh, wait, someone was here to see him? Who? Someone in on the conspiracy?

**"**Boyd." A deep, vaguely familiar voice said. "I'm coming in. Is that all right?"

Boyd pressed his back against the wall and pushed himself into a standing position. "Who are you working for?"

**"**I'm with the Psychonauts. I am here to help."

**"**The Psychonauts! They're in on it too!" Boyd was frantic. "Them and that kid with the goggles!"

**"**No," said a second, younger voice. "No, we're not. We know there's a conspiracy. We're here to take it down and you're the only one who can help!"

**"**You're just saying that!" Boyd shouted back. "You want to find out what I know so that you can take it back to the manager of that boy band and tell him what I know! Well, you won't get any information out of me!"

**"**Who's in on it, Boyd?" the kid pressed.

**"**You should know! You and that guard! You and him and- and the guy from the office! They all teamed up with Hernando and started this whole mess! Now the Psychonauts are here to wipe my brain! Well, I won't let you without a fight!"

**"**Boyd, why did you burn down your office?"

**"**You mean, _why did I burn down your headquarters_, don't you? Ha! I probably set you back pretty far, didn't I? At least I'll have that victory when you try and lobotomize me!"

On the other side of the door, Sasha sighed.

**"**Okay, I remember him being crazy, but this is just scary," said Raz. "And he was so _normal _at the office. Remember?" Raz made a pouring gesture with one hand into an invisible cup.

There was a guard standing next to the door to Boyd's cell. He looked a lot like like the unusual coworker from Boyd's office.

"Has he been like this for the past three days?" Sasha asked him.

**"**I am guarding a patient," said the guard. "He is dangerous, and I am keeping him and others safe."

**"**Yes, I can see that," said Sasha. "But about Mr. Cooper..."

The guard held up an oversized key ring with a lot of keys jingling on the end. "I have many keys so I can access many parts of the building. I lock up after I am done."

**"**My question is," said Raz, "how one of these guys got out of Boyd's head and into the real world."

**"**The person I am guarding is insane."

_Razputin, _Sasha said telekenetically. _Go into the room. Shield yourself against Boyd if he becomes aggressive, but you may be able to talk to him in a few minutes. If my theory is correct. Can you do this?_

_Sure, _said Raz.

_Find out as much information as you can. I may need to pull you out of there at any moment._

When asked, the "guard" unlocked the heavy door and opened it. Raz stepped in, and it closed behind him.

Boyd looked panicked. "Aha! I knew it! The kid with the goggles! You were working with the Milkman!"

**"**No," said Raz. "I was working with _you _to bring _down _the Milkman. Remember?"

**"**That's just what you wanted me to think! But you took all that information right back to the dairy industry, didn't you? Didn't you?"

**"**I never did!"

Suddenly the fire alarm went off. Between that and the sound of the automatic sprinklers, the volume was almost deafening. Still, Boyd's crazy managed to make itself heard over the sudden din.

"You're here to take my thoughts! And they took away my protective tin foil headgear! Well I'm not going down without a fight!" And he charged at Raz.

**"**Olé!" Raz ducked out of the way at the last second, leaving Boyd to slam his head in the one part of the room that wasn't padded- the moaned and slid down to the floor. "Your trickery... is... unbeatable."

Raz leaned over and looked. Boyd had a huge gash on his head that was oozing blood. Raz felt around, then took off his pilot's jacket and pressed it against Boyd's head. It wasn't very absorbent, but it was pressure. "Jeeze, you've got more charge than El Odio."

Boyd squirmed, then struggled and managed to drag himself into a sit. "I... I'm sorry." His voice was completely different, being quiet and calm. His eyes were strangely glassy. "I don't know what came over me. You... you're that kid with the goggles, from the Asylum. You came to see me last week or something, right?"

Raz nodded. "Yeah. Boyd, this is really important. Why did you try to burn down your office?"

Boyd shook his head. "I just... it seemed like everyone was in on it. Everywhere I went people were talking about me, plotting against me. The office was their headquarters."

**"**Did you see anything weird happening?"

**"**No... that really weird guy, though- the one Sasha told me not to talk to- well, he came by my office the day before... he told me _something, _but I can't remember what. But he was in on it." Boyd's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh. Oh, God. I don't know. I guess I'm still crazy. But something's going on and _he's in on it. _It's not the dairy industry or the big corporations. It's about us."

**"**Yeah," said Raz. "You're right about that. There _is _a conspiracy."

Boyd started sobbing. "I don't want to lose my mind again. I'm scared. What's going to happen to us? I just... I'd rather die than go back to what I was. I can't do it... I was happy. Why are they doing this to us?"

Raz squeezed Boyd's shoulder. "We're gonna get them," said Raz. "I promise. For you and everyone else that was at Thorney Towers. Don't give up. You hear me? Don't. Give. Up."

Boyd shuddered. "Okay... okay." He shook his head. "If... I ever do something again... I'm sorry, okay?"

Just then Sasha threw the door open and grabbed Raz's arm. "We have to go. Quickly."

Boyd lunged forward. "Don't leave me here!" he begged.

**"**Don't worry," said Sasha. "I will be back for you in less than 48 hours." Then he shoved the door shut, grabbed Raz, and teleported out to the parking lot.**"**What did you do?" asked Raz. He now noticed that Sasha was dripping wet.

**"**I needed to get the guard away from Boyd," said Sasha.

**"**Did you set the fire alarm off?"

**"**Yes."

**"**Did you _set a fire_?

"**"**What did you learn, Razputin? Was he lucid after the alarm went off?"

**"**Yeah," said Raz. "He was, and he was terrified that he was going to go crazy again. Are we really coming back for him?"

**"**Yes," said Sasha. "I'm going to draw up a report to prove that his mental recovery was sabotaged with psitanium and have him released into the custody of the Psychonauts."

**"**How were they slipping psitanium to him?"

**"**The guard had it," said Sasha. "He was in league with the man from his office, and they were staying close to Boyd to ensure that he was always near it. When Boyd's mind started to break, all it took was for him to notice that someone was always near him for his paranoia to take over. I have proof of this as well as proof that the Psychonauts are better equipped to take care of him."

Raz pumped his fist. "Hoo-yeah!" He mentally ticked the patients in his head:

Edgar was safe with them  
>Boyd was going to be safe with them<br>Gloria was in the hospital, but the latest report showed she was conscious and mentally sound

But Fred was missing  
>And Sheegor was missing<br>Crispin was dead.

And Loboto was... Loboto. Well, if you don't count him either way, then they had saved half of all the ex-inmates. Not a bad day's work for a Psychonaut.


	12. What Good Will Wishing Do

Shady Pines seemed quieter this time, Sasha noticed as he parked his car and stepped out. This time he came alone. As planned, Nurse Hidaka was on duty and he found her just inside at the nurse's station. She seemed guarded and tense, the opposite of how she had been last time.

"Nein," she said when she saw him.

Sasha cut right to the chase. "It's urgent that you release the body of Crispin Whytehead as well as any information surrounding his death."

"I can't do that." Rumi was curt. "Patient confidentiality."

"The patient is dead."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you."

"Nurse Hidaka, there are more lives at stake. At least two are in immediate danger, and we need all the information we can regarding the death of this one. It may be the only way to save them."

"How so?"

"That information is classified to the Psychonauts."

Rumi raised an eyebrow.

"If I need to, I'll come back with a warrant."

"You're going to have to," said Rumi. "Do Psychonauts even do warrants?"

Just then a heavy door off to the side slammed shut, drawing the attention of both Rumi and Sasha. They both saw Dr. Forever standing in the doorway. He nodded in greeting to Sasha, then gestured for Rumi to approach, which she did. Sasha couldn't hear a sound from them as they huddled, heads together.

Finally, Dr. Forever sent Rumi back to Sasha. "I've just spoken with the doctor in charge of Crispin," she said. "You've met Dr. Forever before."

"Yes, I have."

"Walk with us."

They began walking down the hallways. It was intensely quiet, far too quiet for a mental hospital. Sure, today's asylums didn't have the screaming in agony or the rattling of chains that kept them restrained, but it wasn't supposed to be deathly quiet. Frankly, it was unnerving.

"We had to lie to you," said Rumi, "because we didn't know who we could trust."

"About what?"

"Loboto, for one thing. We had protections around him, but he's gone."

"How-"

"We have no idea." They turned a corner. "Your psychic protections and our security were both breached the same night that someone broke in to kill Crispin Whytehead." Rumi looked up at Sasha. "We've only just now decided that whatever is going on, we are in no condition to handle it."

"What are the circumstances of Crispin's death?"

"The night before last, a man in a trenchcoat broke in through the back way and made his way into Crispin's room. Crispin had already been put to bed, so he seemed an easy target for a quick smothering-strangling. A passing nurse saw him as he made an escape. Our security guard couldn't stop him, though he did fire at him as he disappeared into the surrounding woods."

They stopped, finally, at the end of a hall. This hall was in a staff-only section of the asylum, a row of offices leading up to double doors that read in bold: MORTUARY.

"You have a morgue in a mental hospital?"

"Of course we do," said Rumi. "People die here, same as anywhere else."

Dr. Forever unlocked the door, and they all went in. The door locked behind them. Right away Dr. Forever began checking for signs of unauthorized entry.

Rumi waited until he gave the all clear, and she continued: "We're releasing Crispin to you. You need to keep him somewhere safe."

"The Psychonauts have their own mortuary for conducting psychic autopsies-"

Rumi shook her head. "Not what I meant. If anyone sees him leave this hospital, then everything falls apart. Can your people move him undetected?"

"Let me see him."

Dr. Forever opened one of the drawers as Sasha looked on.

* * *

><p>The interrogation lights were painfully bright. An agent threw Fred into a cold metal chair and slammed the door shut as he left, leaving Fred alone. He'd banged his shins and knees on the table, but he was too out of it to register any pain. The whole room felt like a metal box illuminated by a bare bulb. Across from him was a two-way mirror. There was a pitcher of water on the table, and an empty glass beside it. Fred didn't touch either.<p>

Eventually, another man entered the room. He had a friendly face, but Fred didn't trust it.

Right away the man gestured to the pitcher. "You turn down our hospitality?"

Fred looked at him. "Huh?"

"That's for you, Bonaparte."

"Oh. I thought it was for someone else."

"Well, go ahead."

Fred looked at the man as if he wasn't sure. But he was too parched to be indecisive. He grabbed the pitcher, raised it up to his mouth, paused as if waiting for someone to tell him he was doing something he shouldn't, then he gulped down all the water he could. His stomach swelled as it filled, and right away he felt queasy. When he finished, he slammed the pitcher down and wiped his mouth.

"Are you ready to talk?"

Far beyond wondering what was going on, Fred nodded.

"Wonderful. Tell us about the psitanium."

Fred blinked a few times in surprise. Couldn't they find that out at a library if they needed to know so bad? "Uh... it's, um, an element, I think? It crashed on a meteorite-"

The man cut him off. "Please. Let's not just play on pretenses. You know what I want. The psitanium experiments."

Fred shook his head slowly. "No... no, I don't know anything about-"

The man slammed his palms on the table. Fred jumped. "Don't you lie to me, Bonaparte!" he barked. "Little Miss Thorney told us everything. I know you have the records. I know you worked for Houston Thorney."

"Yeah, I was an orderly-"

"Where are the records for the pistanium experiments?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you really willing to die to protect that information?"

"What? No! I don't want to die!"

"All you have to do to stay alive is tell us where the records are. Nobody's going to blame you for acting in self preservation."

"I really don't want to die."

"Who are you protecting? We've got everyone where we want them. We're not afraid to kill again."

"You killed Sheegor?"

"Of course not. We need Sheena. We just killed Crispin."

Fred felt like the half-gallon of water he'd just downed turned into ice. "Wh- why?"

"Because he knew things we didn't want him to know. And the Psychonauts already tried to crack to crack his mind once." The agent smirked. "Don't tell me you're not glad."

Honestly, Fred had thought he would be. But now all Crispin's death meant was that these people weren't afraid to kill, and they knew how to get away with it. Not to mention it meant Crispin was wrong- he _wasn't_ safe playing the catatonic invalid holed up in a mental institution. Which meant no one was safe. Fred knew he wasn't safe, but he felt bad for the others."Last chance," said the man. "Want to tell us where the records for the psitanium experiments are?"

Fred hung his head. The man tented his fingers. He waited, but Fred had nothing to give him. Finally, the man sighed and said, "I can see you're not going to help me."

Two other men came in and escorted Fred out. They grabbed his arms and dragged him down the hall, into a different room. He knew it wasn't any of the cells they'd thrown him in before, because this one had a little window. It was narrow and rectangular, close to the ceiling like a basement window. A normal person wouldn't be able to look out it but Fred had no problem. He pressed his nose against the window and looked out. He could see water, spreading out to the horizon. A giant lake? Or was he near the ocean?

The window was glass, and as he slowly pressed his nose to it he realized that half the glass in the window was missing. Dehydration, starvation, and mindscrews don't do any favors for your sense of perception. There was actually a jagged break down the middle, and a chunk of glass on the floor.**  
><strong>  
>When Fred bent down to pick it up, his eyes passed a message on the wall, written in blood: <em>THIS IS WHERE THEY PUT YOU TO DIE.<em> There was also blood on the piece of glass.

Fred clutched the glass in his hand so tight that it cut into his palms and fingers.

Fred was scared. He hated being scared, and yet he spent more time afraid than anything else.

They were going to kill him. Or if they couldn't get around to it, they'd leave him in here until he died. Maybe they wanted him to use the glass and cut his wrists or throat to speed up the process.

Maybe he would.

"I survived Thorney Towers just to die after a year of freedom," he thought. "I'll never even get to ask out that cute girl at the coffee shop. She probably would have said no, but it would have been nice to ask. Why me? Why me? Why me?"

Fred heard a voice singing down the hall, coming closer. It seemed to be responding to the thoughts in his head:

_No one's in a fix like I am  
>No one has the luck I do<br>__No one has the setbacks I have  
>Look where life has led me to...<em>

Fred couldn't place the voice, but somehow he was comforted knowing that he wasn't alone. Something about this voice told him that it wasn't going to kill him.

_Nothing I can see can help me  
>And with all that I've come through<br>I wish this was a dream so I could wake up  
>But what good will wishing do?<em>

Whoever it was was now on the other side of the door, so close he could hear her breathing. "H- hello?" he said timidly.

"Hi," she replied. "I'm here to tell you not to give up."

"But I want to," whined Fred.

"Look. Look at me."

"I can't see you."

"You're only on the second floor of this building. The window is normally too high for anyone to climb out of, but you're tall enough. Just punch out the glass and wriggle through. Then flip yourself around and climb down to the building's ledge. From there you can fall onto the ground."

"Can't you just let me out?"

"No."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I know something you don't seem to, and you need to know. I know you can get out of this."

"Well..." He pressed his bloody palm against the door. "Thanks. I guess."

"No matter," said the voice. "Just remember, one good turn deserves another... turn... turns... wait... oh, that son of a bitch." Her voice was suddenly angry.

"Who?"

"Er... never mind. Look. I have to go."

"Don't go! I don't know if I can get out.

"Yes, you can. Look inside yourself, that's all."

"I can't," said Fred. "You have to free me."

"Don't say you can't," she said. "Because if _you_ can't, _he_ can."  
><strong><br>**"Who?"

She didn't answer.

"Come on, let me go. Please? They're going to kill me."

She didn't say anything. She just walked down the hall, singing sadly:  
><em><br>Nothing I can see can help me  
>Somebody will save me, but who?<br>I wish this was a cozy little inn here  
>But what good will wishing do?<br>Besides make your dreams come true..._

When she was gone, he realized he wasn't sure if anyone had been there at all. Probably not. Fred curled up in a corner and squeezed his legs tight to his chest. Could he really climb out that window? No, of course not. He'd just fall headfirst onto the pavement below and his head would split open. That was way too scary a way to die. Maybe he could make something up about psitanium, something they wanted to hear. Then they'd let him go. Would they?

"Pathetic," he thought, "just pathetic. Do you hate victory so much that you'd rather die than try to escape?"

He tried to push the thought out of his head. "No! Of course not! I love victory!

"Sure. Just not enough to actually do anything about it.

"What? No, that's not it!

"Isn't it."

Suddenly, Fred felt a sick feeling down in the pit of his stomach.


	13. Brand New Day

Fred paced back and forth in his tiny cell which seemed to be closing in on him by the second. He was panicking, his thoughts rushing past at a mile a minute so he couldn't catch them. His head was buzzing, making it hard for real problem solving to happen.

"Stop panicking!" his brain demanded. The words stayed inside his head instead of coming out of his mouth, but they were so un-Fredlike that he had to squash them away.

"I mean it! Stop stimming and pacing right now!"

Still trembling, Fred obeyed.

"Good. Now. You are going to get out of here and you are going to live, but you have to calm down."

Fred shook his head. No. Not like this. He couldn't give into the mania. He couldn't go back to the way he'd been.

"Would you rather die?! Is that what you want? To die here? You'd rather die than be crazy, is that what I'm hearing?"

Fred squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears.

"Don't give me that! As long as you're alive you've got hope. If you're dead, there's no hope. Don't you understand that?"

Somehow that registered. Fred stopped trembling, and he slowly lowered his hands. He opened his eyes and looked at the window, a solid determination falling over him.

"Good. Now. Climb out."

But I can't-

"Yes you can! Believe me!"

Fred reached up and put his hands on the windowpane. He balled up his right fist and punched at the glass that was still there. But at the last second he lost momentum and his hand bounced back off the glass.

"Afraid of a little cut? Fine! Take your shirt off and wrap up your hand like in the movies."

Angry, Fred punched the glass again, this time breaking it. Deep cuts all down his forearm started to bleed as he punched out the rest of the glass. Then he put his arms out the window to pull himself out. As soon as he poked his head out the window, though, he pulled it back in. No way could he climb down the wall of a two-story building, not if he was starting headfirst.

But as soon as he thought about it that way, a strange calm came over him. He was in control. His decision would determine what happened next, not theirs. He could choose to wait here until his body couldn't go on anymore, or he could climb out the window and crack his skull on the pavement, or he could let himself bleed out. He hadn't been in control for a long time, not in the asylum, not in his freedom and not in this cell. But damn it, if he was going to die because of this, it would be his way. And the success of his climb was in his control. Whether or not he made it out of the window alive was in his hands and nobody elses.

Fred put his hands back and pulled himself out again, this time without turning back. The glass scraped his stomach and deep red showed up on his white tee, but he didn't care. He brought his right leg out, squeezing it through the narrow window. He got his foot caught and he had to grab it and bend it as hard as he could to flatten it so he could get it out. Then he brought it down to rest on the narrow ledge of brick that separated the stories of the building. His second leg was harder, but he managed to get that one out too. He almost fell getting it there, but by some miracle he didn't.

Then all he had to do was jump.

Everything happened in a blur. Someone was out on the street shouting, was it the man from before? Or someone else? Fred landed hard on his right ankle, then took off running and limping as best he could. A black car sped down the road and someone Fred knew jumped out. He psychically blasted the sidewalk in front of the man- men, now?- chasing Fred. Then this familiar man grabbed Fred by the collar and threw him in the back seat of the black car.

The carr peeled down the road, the driver talking calmly to Fred. Fred's head was buzzing again. tiny bits of glass in his skin stung. Blood oozed slowly from his many cuts. Words from the driver made no sense. He was aware that they were questions, eas7y questions and not interrogations, but he still couldn't answer them.

"Whatever happens now," said his mind, "just know. You got out of there alive." That thought comforted him as he let himself drift off to sleep, uncertain if he was going to wake up.

* * *

><p>Fred was having ugly dreams. They were all over him, those monsters in the dark. He was suffocating. He couldn't move his arms. They took them away. Someone was screaming at him to fight, don't just sit there and let them kill you! But he was trapped, and now falling, why was he falling?<p>

His body jumped a little and he woke up. Fred wasn't in the domain of nightmares. Actually, the opposite: he was on a cot in a church basement. There was a bathroom nearby, and Fred got up to splash some water on his face. When he caught his reflection in the mirror, he realized just how much he had been through. His face was sunken and dead-looking, his shirt blotted with blood. Someone had carefully wrapped his arms in bandages, and bandaged his stomach as well. He also looked and felt extremely grimy, so he took the time to he wash his face, neck, and hands. He looked into the mirror until he was sure it was Fred who was staring back at him.

Fred stepped back into the main basement. He looked around the room, trying to piece everything together and see everything he'd missed last night- well, yesterday- oh, whenever. There was his cot, under a row of narrow windows near the ceiling that were too much like the one he'd escaped through. Nearby was a bookshelf lined with study bibles and devotionals. On the other wall several long tables were folded up, probably there for fellowship events. On the front wall hung an elegant wooden cross, with a banner hanging over it that read, "Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me (Matthew 25:40, NIV)" There was a chair under the display, with a pile of rags heaped on it. In addition to the bathroom, there was a door to the outside on one wall, a door to the stairs on another, and a door to the kitchen next to that one.

Fred stepped closer to admire the handiwork of the cross. The edges were smooth and tapered, and down the center was carved an intricate design of doves and vines. The edges were smooth and polished, and there was a crown of thorns carved out of the same wood, hanging over the cross section just above the banner. Fred was not a religious man, but there was something moving about this display. It was a work of art.

"Remarkable, isn't it?" the pile of rags said.

Fred jumped out of his skin and yelped.

The pile of rags straightened out, looked up and grinned at him. Fred recognized that pasty, sickly face. "Crispin? But how-?"

"Oh, please," said Crispin with a sneer. "Just because I can't see you doesn't mean I can't smell you."

Fred sniffed himself subconsciously. "No, I mean- how are you alive? You're supposed to be dead."

"Let's just say that the reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." He smirked. "I've always wanted to say that."

"So- they didn't kill you?"

"Don't sound too disappointed, General."

"What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, claiming sanctuary."

"I don't understand."

"One too many cannonballs to the head on the battlefield, eh, Bonaparte?" Crispin chuckled to himself. "Your brain's still kiltery-jiltery. Oh well. I'll spell it out for you. I faked my death and I'm sorry to say I did a piss-poor job of it. Won't take too long to unravel that web of lies, since there's not a shred of physical evidence. The G-men wanted me gone, want to make a clean job of it. They tried to smother this poor, feeble-minded invalid with a pillow. I broke the charade, and his wrist, and Nurse Hidaka showed up just in time to bash him over the head. I asked her and that other one to spread the rumor that I died, just as they wanted it done. Won't hold up under any sort of scrutiny, but it gave me a chance to run, so to speak. So I did.

"And here I am."

He finished his story, and Fred didn't speak. He was looking at the cross on the wall. He was wondering if it was a relief that Crispin was alive. It certainly didn't mean that the enemy wasn't dangerous, but it meant they weren't infallible. Of course, Crispin was a bit more cunning than Fred, but if Fred was once again under the protection of the Psychonauts, there was yet a chance that he was safe.

"Penny for your thoughts, General."

Fred ignored him. Still, it was a pity that Crispin wasn't dead. Cruel though it was to think, he would not rest easy knowing Crispin was still around.

"Lovely woodwork, eh?" Crispin said. He was still staring straight ahead with his creepy blind eyes. Fred assumed that he had "seen" it by running his hands over it. Or maybe he'd been here once before and seen it for real, because it had a thin and undisturbed layer of dust over it.

Crispin continued, "They say it was carved out of a tree planted in Whispering Rock by a monk who was following God's blueprint... although he probably just thought he heard the whispering of the rock, if you know what I mean. Although who knows? Maybe the Lord did send him craft patterns telepathically."

"Is that true?"

"No," said Crispin, "I'm just making that up off the top of my head. In any case, why don't you make yourself useful and run a cloth over it, get some of that dust off it? It looks dreadful."

"Huh? Oh, sure." Fred went and got a dish cloth from the kitchen, then brought it back and started wiping the polished wood. "You don't know it looks dreadful, you know," he informed Crispin. "You're blind."

"My eyes don't work," said Crispin, "but that doesn't mean I can't see."

Fred stopped dusting. He slowly turned his head to look at Crispin, who was still sitting in his chair, right beside Fred, still staring straight ahead.

"Goodness, have I got dirt on my face?" Crispin said lightly. "Hand me that clean dishrag, would you?"

Fred held out the dish cloth, staring at Crispin with his mouth slightly open. "Thanks, mate," said Crispin. He reached out and felt around until his hand made contact with the dish cloth. "Do me a favor, would you? Kneel down and look at me head on. Yes, like that, thank you." Crispin raised the cloth and wiped the streak of dirt off his face. "Much better. Thank you."

Something clicked in Fred's mind. "You... you're using Clairvoyance on me. Aren't you?"

"You are a smart one, aren't you?"

"I didn't know you were psychic."

"Well, I wasn't when we met."

"So when did that happen?"

"It's not something that just happened all at once. It was the psitanium, you know. I don't know when it happened, but I was never inclined to try until I realized my own eyes were no longer working, and I just tried my minds eye. Incidentally, did you know that one Mr. Boyd Cooper is pyrokinetic now? I don't think he does. Someone ought to tell him before he burns the office down by accident. Oh, or has he done it on purpose already?" Crispin paused. "The rest of them are unchanged. At least I think so. Doctor Loboto may know how to make confusion grenades, but I think he just naturally has that effect on people."

"What about me?"

"Unlikely," said Crispin. Then he tilted his chin up. "Why don't you try?"

Fred looked around the room. He settled his eyes on a small mug on the ledge of one of the high windows. He focused his whole mind on it, wrapping around it, willing it...

But there was no effect.

"Guess not," said Fred.

"Don't feel too bad," said Crispin. "You can always go back to Whispering Rock and hang around the psitanium a bit more. See if you can't develop some psychic powers of your own." He caught the reflection of Fred's face in his own eyes. "Close your mouth, Bonaparte, you're starting to catch flies."

Fred quickly shut his mouth and looked away from Crispin. He wasn't used to the idea of Crispin being able to see.

"Could you do me one more favor?"

"It depends," said Fred, still looking away.

"Could you look out one of those windows for me?"

"Uh, okay..." Fred was suspicious, but he did as he was asked. There were a few narrow windows near the ceiling that he could easily see out the window without even having to stand on his toes. Around his chin level, the ground outside began. There was a tree trunk not too far away. He could see the crevices of the bark. There were ants crawling up and down the near side of the tree, hinting at its poor health. The sky was mostly clear, with only a few wisps of cloud.

"What am I looking for?" asked Fred.

"Nothing," said Crispin. "I just missed being able to look out the window."

Fred turned around. Crispin had stood up and was walking unsteadily over to Fred. His arms were out, searching for obstacles. He was only a few steps away from his chair and he was already lost. Fred had stepped too far away, and without a trinket of his to hold onto, Crispin could no longer see through Fred's eyes.

For the second time in his life, Fred felt pity for Crispin. Without even making the conscious decision, he reached one of his stubby arms out in front of Crispin's face. Crispin's hand brushed Fred's, felt around to see what it was, then he closed his hand around Fred's wrist. Fred guided him over to the wall. "Back in range?" asked Fred.

"Yes, thank you."

And, unlike the last time, Fred's pity didn't bite him in the butt.

* * *

><p><em>The second part of this chapter was written over a year ago, around the same time as the first Boyd Cooper thing. I really like this Crispin better than the one I wrote in my Pyschonauts one-shot "Agony," although I can see both of them being valid interpretations based on what we see in the game. <em>


	14. Aged Up

Sasha came back several hours later. In the meantime, Fred and Crispin hadn't spoken to each other since the window. Crispin went back to his seat and back to his own little world, whatever that consisted of. Fred lay back down on the cot and tried to remember if anything had happened between the time of his escape and his waking up in the church. He had a vague recollection now of being patched up by someone he didn't know, and of throwing up all the water he drank all over Sasha's front.

When Sasha returned he had a few bags from a deli up the street. He'd gotten a container of soup for Fred, which Fred was thankful for. It would be so easy on his stomach, having not eaten in however long. He tried not to eat fast, but it was hard. It tasted so good, and as soon as it hit his tongue he realized just how hungry he'd been.

"Easy now," said Sasha. "You're going to make yourself sick again."

Fred's face flushed as he remembered throwing up on Sasha. "Sorry," he said.

Sasha waved his hand dismissively. Then he pulled out his cigarette pack and a cigarette from it, pyrokinetically lit it, and started smoking right there in the church basement.

Crispin wrinkled his nose. "Really now, can't you take that outside?"

"I'm keeping a close watch on you," replied Sasha. He took a long drag on his cigarette, then blew the smoke to the other side of the room. As he tapped the ashes out in an ashtray he'd brought with him, he asked idly, "How old are you?"

"Thirty... uh... thirty six," replied Fred lamely. "Or thirty-nine."

"The doctor thinks so, too." He gestured to Fred's stomach. "You needed stitches."

"Ninety-two," said Crispin.

Fred gave him a weird look. "Ninety-two?"

"By my reckoning."

"What year do you think it is?" asked Sasha.

"Nineteen- nineteen, uh... 2006," said Fred.

"Go ahead, General, what were you going to say?" asked Crispin. "Nineteen forty-five, perhaps?"

Fred shook his head. "No, of course not. That's crazy."

"You were born around 1970, then?"

"Y- uh, yeah."

Sasha took another puff. "I need to go to Thorny Towers."

"Oh. Um, can I come?"

Sasha shook his head. "I wouldn't recommend it."

"Oh." He looked down.

Crispin nudged him and gave him a pointed look. Fred blurted out, "I know it's risky, but I need to come. It's... it's just something I gotta do, okay?"

Sasha seemed mildly surprised, which Fred by now realized meant that he was actually very surprised if he was showing it externally. "I cannot protect you from the effects of the psitanium. Because of your previous exposure, it might not take very long at all for you to feel its effects again."

"I don't care," said Fred. "I need to. I really do."

"I also think I should go," said Crispin.

Sasha didn't answer. Fred sort of hunched down and sat on the ground, finishing his soup. Sasha stood up and moved to the back of the room, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Smooth," said Crispin when Sasha was out of earshot. "Why do you want to go to Thorny Towers, anyway?"

Fred shrugged. "I don't know. Why do you want to go?"

"Moral support," said Crispin.

"Yeah, right." Fred scoffed.

"I'm serious."

Fred gave Crispin a sideways look. He remembered talking to Crispin back at Shady Pines, and earlier that day, and a strange thought crossed his mind. "Uh, Crispin...?"

"Yes, Bonaparte?"

"Why are you being...?" Nice wasn't exactly the word, but Fred couldn't really think of one that fit his behavior. "Friendly," he decided on.

"You could use one right about now," said Crispin.

Fred frowned. "That doesn't really answer my question."

"You know, I never hated you. I just hated how pathetic you were."

"That's, uh, kind of rude."

"It's very rude, Bonaparte, why don't you bother standing up for yourself once in a while?"

"I do," said Fred.

"So do it. Call me out like you did back at the asylum."

"After, uh, our altercation-"

"You mean after you beat the stuffing out of me?"

"Uh, yeah, that. I'm actually sorry about-"

"Don't be. We're even."

"Oh." Fred tilted his head. "You seem... different."

"So do you."

"I guess it's just good to be out of that asylum and away from all that craziness."

While Fred and Crispin were talking, Sasha's phone rang. He answered it. "Agent Nein speaking."

"Sasha? It's Milla, darling."

"Hello, Milla. Have you spoken to Brent Thorney?"

"Actually, I'm calling about that. I arrived here and went straight to his office on campus..."

"Yes?"

"And he ran away."

Sasha paused a moment. "What?"

"He ran away. The office receptionist called him and told him who it was, and he said he would meet me in a moment. Ten minutes must have passed without him coming out, and when we went to the office to see what was keeping him, his window was open and he was nowhere to be found."

"He does know something."

"I think that cryptic polaroid might have been right. You know, I've never been lied to by a picture before."

"I'll meet you at the office," said Sasha. "We're going to the asylum as soon as you get back."

"Did you manage to get Boyd somewhere safe?"

"Yes. He's in lockdown at the office. Raz is keeping an eye on him. Boyd trusts Raz the most, now that he's away from the psitanium."

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Love you, darling."

"Goodbye." He hung up the phone and turned to Fred and Crispin, who had just finished up their own conversation. "Do you feel well enough to move? We're going back to the office."

"Yeah," said Fred. "Actually, why aren't we there in the first place? I thought it was kinda strange we're in a church basement..."

"This church is just down the road from Shady Pines. I couldn't risk moving Crispin through a more populated area without more preparations, and the priest was more than willing to accommodate the psychonauts. I brought you here simply because it was the closest place we had already established a base of operations, and I wanted someone to tend to you as soon as possible."

"Oh. I guess that makes sense."

"Crispin, I'm going to lead you out to the car. Please take my arm."

"No need, Nein," said Crispin. "Just let me follow on your heels and I'll be fine."

"It would be better if you didn't rely on your newly discovered psychic powers in such an urgent and uncertain situation. Please take my arm."

Crispin sneered, but he did as he was told. Fred could tell, knowing Crispin as long as he had, that Crispin was at least a little grateful that Sasha wasn't forcibly guiding him but rather giving him agency in the decision, which made him slightly more willing to do as he was told. Had Sasha physically laid hands on him, Crispin would have been much more resentful and, as a result, difficult.

Fred followed behind them, banging his head on the low church doorway on their way out.

* * *

><p>It was almost nine o'clock at Dr. Jonathan Kybard's dental office. His little assistant was straightening the waiting room and putting the computer into idle mode for the night while he put away the last of his dental tools. He stayed open late many nights to accommodate certain patients who couldn't make it during regular office hours, and it was one of the jobs little pleasures for him. But now he was off work and done for the day, and he was just Jonathan.<p>

Ego poked her head into the exam room. "Everything's put to bed, sir."

"Good. Now, you ought to get home. Your mom wants you home for bed, too."

"But it's not a school night," she protested.

Jonathan rubbed her hair. "I know, kiddo, but your mom makes the rules for you. I can't override them." He cupped her cheeks in his hands and smooshed her face against his at the forehead and nose. "Mwah!" Then he let her go. "Love you."

"Love you, too," she said. She picked up her backpack and started to go. Then she turned around, gave him one last hug, then left, locking the door behind her.

It was quiet. Jonathan sighed and flopped down on the waiting room couch. Since he and his wife split up, he'd been living here. Until he got a real place of his own, he couldn't get partial custody of his daughters, and Ego was the only one who was really keeping him company.

He was just about to doze off when he remembered to get up and hang his lab coat so it wouldn't get wrinkled. Because he was so sleepy, he thought it was a dream when he opened the closet door and saw two glowing lights floating in the darkness. He blinked. Red and green? Did he have Christmas decorations here?

A metal claw lunged out from the darkness, a body behind it, and pinned him against the nearest wall by the throat.

"Remember me?" Dr. Loboto cackled.

"Vaguely," said Jonathan. "Shouldn't you be in an asylum somewhere? Locked up away from the rest of us normal people?" He struggled against the mad doctor's grip.

"Oh, come now, you never were a 'normal people,'" Loboto said with great amusement. He had Dr. K completely at his mercy, struggling or not. "You were always like me. A dreamer with a vision too big for man to understand."

"Hey, my dreams don't involve mass suffering and military takeovers. I mean, not the goal dreams. The REM sleep dreams, well, from time to time. I don't really have control over that. But that's neither here nor there! Why did you come back? I don't like you!"

"Where are the discs?"

"What?"

"The discs, man, the discs! The ones you stole from me before I had to go back!"

"... This is the first I'm hearing of you having discs."

"You have them!" Loboto shrieked. "I told you every detail of our plans and now you have the information on the discs in your moist little brain!"

"Dude. I tuned you out, like, 80% of the time. And I forgot the rest."

"Don't play coy with me. You loved everything I said. Soaked it up like an old rag in a bottle of chloroform."

"... Why is that the first place your mind goes?"

"You can't turn your back on us and expect to live."

"Wait!" Jonathan shouted, even though Loboto wasn't doing anything at that moment. "There's no us. It's just you being crazy!"

"Not at all!" Loboto cackled. "Don't you know who I'm working for? Of course you do. You've met him!"

"... Satan?" Jonathan guessed.

"No, of course not- wait, you've met Satan?"

"One time, at the park in spring," Jonathan admitted. "Cordial enough fellow, if you can get past the evil."

Loboto gave Jonathan's throat a squeeze. "The disks, now. All of the information."

Jonathan wheezed a bit, and Loboto loosed his grip slightly. "The computer... the computer's over there," he said, gesturing with his whole arm.

Loboto dropped Jonathan, who fell immediately to his knees clutching his throat, and went over to the computer. He pressed a few buttons to get it up and running, and started pawing through the surrounding drawers while he was waiting.

As soon as Loboto was sufficiently distracted, Jonathan got up and crept slowly to the door without being spotted. He let himself out as silently as possible, and as soon as he got out of the building he grabbed the payphone that lingered unused outside the building and dialed 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I've got an escaped mental patient in my dentist office," said Jonathan. "514 Industrial Park West, Suite 26. I'm pretty sure the Psychonauts are looking for him."

"I'm dispatching a unit right away. Can you stay on the phone and tell me when you see them?"

"Sure can," said Jonathan.

The police arrived shortly, but when they got to Dr. Kybard's office, Loboto was gone. He had smashed the computer irreparably, but nothing was missing. The police notified the Psychonauts immediately.

* * *

><p><em>I really don't know about Crispin, to tell you the truth. I have about a million different interpretations of him based on how he acted in the game and what his role was. This one works best for the story, the version where he's always an icy, arrogant jerk but was made worse by the psitanium.<em>

_Anyway, now that I've finished my actual book, I can get back to finishing this story._


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